


A Garland of Stars

by Malkuthe



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Original, Childhood Infatuation, Constructed Language, High Fantasy, Homophobia, Knight!Jason, Knight!Percy, Knight!Will, M/M, Promises, Religious Themes, Romance, Sexual Percico, implied jercy, prince!Nico, solangelo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5744590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malkuthe/pseuds/Malkuthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some fifty years, the Dominion of the Elves has exerted its influence over the Realms of Man. In the heart of the West, in the realm of the king Aides, is a warrior-prince waiting for one that would not only be worthy of his hand in marriage, but also one that <em>he</em> would be worthy <em>of</em>. Now a grown man with no obstacle to the throne, he hopes that the young man he had met ten years earlier, at the tender age of thirteen, the boy that had promised him the stars, would return someday to make good on that promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Tournament for Champions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bailci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bailci/gifts).



> If you aren't aware yet, some time before the clock struck midnight on the 31st of December, 2015, there was a _big_ spat in the PJO fandom about writing smut between characters who are minors in the canonical text, but are adults of the age of majority in fics. I still think that those people make _no_ sense whatsoever and should probably go fuck themselves, but that's not the point of this. I think that it is important that we encourage a healthy exploration of health and sexuality through fandom—as there is very little chance for that elsewhere (particularly in America, where puritanical values have made sex not only a taboo topic of discussion among circles of people that assert they possess moral authority, but a downright _dirty_ act to partake in.).
> 
> So this fic is to the healthy and harmless exploration of sexuality through smut. That, and a bit of indulgence and shameless self-promotion. This fic is set in an original universe of my own creation, and the characters will often deliver lines in the language that I constructed for that universe, as well. I hope you find yourself drawn into the material, and please, do leave a message about what you think about the world. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this fic.

The roughshod gallop of Vrist slowed to a canter as Will guided him past the far post of the tilt. The poor horse was not quite used to the state of the soil here in the capital. Back in their own little hamlet, the dirt was a little bit less compact. It was understandable, though. As humble as their little village was, Phoebus still proudly and justly governed it.

For now, though, the job of governing the village fell to its elders. Phoebus reached up and caught the reins of Vrist, just as Will wrenched the heavy helm from his head. He hated the way it felt on his head, since it only made the heat of the Southron realm more unbearable. Unfortunately, he knew that it was necessary.

Will held out his lance for his father to take. The tip was splintered, but even Will knew—without having to look at his father’s face—that a splintered lance just was _not_ going to cut it. If he wanted to have any hope of winning tomorrow’s tournament, he had to shatter his lance nine times out of ten.

Will groaned as he leaned over the edge of his saddle and patted Vrist’s neck. “I am so _very_ out of practice,” he said. He looked longingly at the shortsword and shield that lay to one side of the yard—the preferred combat style of Di’Trevîssi when the charge was done.

“Qarë vatra vittë stirë Nari fitë`re1” said Phoebus, with a lopsided grin. Will was _well_ aware of what his father was doing, but he wasn’t about to admit that it was going to work.

With a grunt, Will dismounted from Vrist’s saddle. He did so with the grace of a bear tumbling down the side of a steep incline. Even though he’d trained with one of the finest cavalrymen he knew, he had _never_ quite managed to stick the art of the landing.

“Nari would think that I’m a pathetic weakling that wasn’t worthy of his father’s instruction,” said Will, “and then I would get angry, do better, and yell at him while he’s grinning at me like an idiot because he managed to motivate me into doing what he wanted me to do.”

Will sprinted to a nearby well, filled a skin up with water, and dashed back to his father. He took a swig before handing the leather pouch to Phoebus. “I am somewhat insulted that you wouldn’t answer me in Tretalleri, Wylder,” said Phoebus, with exactly the same sort of smile that Nari typically had on his face.

Will swung up into Vrist’s saddle with ease. He needed to work on getting _off_ a horse, but whenever he had to get _on_ one, he had cat-like grace. He rolled his eyes at his father. “And I’m somewhat insulted you don’t answer me in Terrelyndë, father,” said Will, digging his heels into Vrist’s flank and guiding the horse around to the other end of the tilt.

One of Will’s younger brothers ran up to him, carrying a fresh lance that he immediately held at the ready. He looked down the length of the yard to where Phoebus was standing, arm raised to the side.

Phoebus swung his arm upward, and Will tightened his grip on the lance and on Vrist’s reins. “Zane`za2” Phoebus yelled, as he swung his arm down. Dust billowed around Vrist’s ankles as Will masterfully brought him up to a gallop.

Moments later, Will’s lance hit the target, but once again, it only splintered at the tip. This time, he didn’t stop when he reached the end of the tilt. He tossed the used lance down at Phoebus’ feet before galloping all the way back to the other end. Another lance was handed to him.

Three more times this happened before Will decided that perhaps it was time to take a short break. He could feel Vrist’s lungs heaving from the effort. A mighty fine destrier, Vrist was, but he wasn’t a Tretalleri warhorse. He slowed down as he came by his father, again, and dismounted in his characteristically clumsy way.

Will patted Vrist’s flank as the horse whinnied and danced in place, hooves stomping at the well-trod earth. “Sh, sh,” he whispered, as he stroked Vrist’s neck. Eventually, the horse calmed down and took to nibbling on the shoots of grass that peeked out from the packed dirt.

Phoebus approached Will with the water skin, which Will took and eagerly drank from. “Perhaps you should give yourself some respite, son,” said Phoebus. “You may have been training in the art of war for 10 years, but you were still born a human—the son of a physician at that. Your disposition is rather different and more delicate than the elves you have trained with all these years.”

Will scoffed at Phoebus as he leaned against Vrist’s flank. The horse huffed, not appreciating the weight on his backside. “You forget, father,” said Will, straightening before he fell over as Vrist shuffled away from him, “I trained _and_ kept up with Nari, and _he_ is an elf. If there’s anyone with a delicate disposition here, it’s you.”

“Fîllë jirë Wylder idë`na3” said Phoebus, fingering the hilt of the decorative sword that hung around his waist.

Will knew that his father despised the battle regalia, but they both knew that they weren’t in their village anymore. It was expected of Phoebus, as was expected of any lord, that he display his status in public around the capital. They weren’t in public at the moment, but Apollo wanted to get used to wearing everything again.

“I am not insulting you, father,” said Will, “simply stating a matter of fact.”

Will smiled as he mounted Vrist again. “But you know as well as I do that if I want to have any chance of winning this tournament against that son of Ennos, I need to do better than just splintering the tip of my lance.”

 

\----------

_Nico was too busy frowning at himself in the mirror to notice Kore and Aides not-so-subtly flirting with one another in one corner of the room. The races of Man had rather strange customs, he thought to himself. The strangeness of the thought—as he was half a member of that race himself—never once crossed his mind._

_Truthfully, his deceased mother having been Tretallë, and his father a strict adherent to the ways of the Dominion, something as exorbitant as this masquerade ball sat_ heavily _at odds with all the values that Nico held close to his heart. In the heartland of the Dominion, the nobility and the peasantry both were expected to be frugal; extravagance was to be saved only for the most auspicious of celebrations._

_Nico fingered the garish golden feathers that sprouted from the corner of his obsidian mask and frowned. As far as he was concerned, the fact that he had come into the age of thirteen that day, traditionally the age at which betrothals were arranged, was as far from auspicious as a day could possibly get. And yet, here he was, preparing for a night of forcibly smiling at nobles and princes and princesses that wanted to have his hand in marriage._

_The only consolation that Nico got was the fact that Aides himself seemed entirely uncomfortable with the proceedings. Nico was only vaguely aware that the only way some of the more “traditional” lords and ladies of the human kingdoms would come was if there was some lavish feast prepared for them._

_Nico appreciated the move from his father. He really did. But, he was entirely convinced that it was_ unnecessary. _He was entirely capable of finding his own match, but last he had heard, his father’s court was clamoring for it in order to, apparently, “show the populace that the kingdom has not forgotten its roots and traditions.”_

_Nico faintly remembered that shortly before she had died of an incurable disease at fifteen, that his older sister Bianca had never caused such an uproar from the council, so he had to wonder what was up with him, this time._

_Nico_ also _remembered the amused expression on the Imperator’s Avatar’s face when Aides had petitioned for permission to hold such a grand event. He remembered how the Imperator had told Aides, in the middle of chuckling, that there was no need to petition for such a thing. The Dominion, the Imperator had explained, encouraged the many different realms under its rule to partake in and preserve culture that had existed before the Dominion arrived to deliver the will of the Imperator and the Stranger to them._

 _Nico sighed and picked at his mask, again. He was not particularly fond of it, but he_ had _to admit that the golden-trimmed, deep obsidian tunic that had come with it was utterly_ majestic. _He might have been thirteen, but he knew how to dress in the characteristic brooding fashion of his family._

_Nico looked over to where Kore was busy tidying her hair, and Aides was picking at his richly embroidered raiment as though it were a coat of itchy wool. Nico would have never placed his father—his king—for a man that knew how to dress well, but seeing Aides’ dashing looks and crisp dress, it became clear that he had been mistaken._

_Nico puffed out his chest, trying to look as imposing as his father, but he didn’t quite manage it. The ponytail that hung over his left shoulder certainly didn’t help things. Truthfully, he had no idea what to do with it. Thankfully, Kore seemed to notice him fiddling with his hair and solved the problem for him._

_“You are looking rather handsome tonight, my little prince,” said Kore, sweetly, as she took Nico’s ponytail into her hands. “Are you hoping to find, perhaps, a prince to marry among them tonight?”_

_Nico smiled despite himself as Kore settled his hair in between the blades of his shoulders. “Mother,” he said, cheeks warming, “you know father would never allow it. Not like this. You know how protective he is. He’s not going to accept just anyone unless he knows that they can stand up to traditionalists like you do.”_

_Kore laughed, the sound almost like the trilling of birds in early spring. Aides, still fiddling with his clothes, looked over at the two of them with a raised eyebrow. Kore waved Aides away and only got a shrug in response._

_“Forget what your father wants—and what your father will allow, little prince,” said Kore. The endearment deepened the flush on Nico’s face as Kore squeezed his cheeks and turned his head to face the mirror. He looked into his own dark eyes as his step-mother said, “go out there and find the one that has been destined for you. All will follow after that.”_

 

\----------

Will hefted his lance, making sure that his grip was true. Phoebus dropped his arm and Will dug his heels into Vrist’s flank. The horse took off on a gallop along the tilt. Vrist’s hooves dug into the dry, well-trod earth, kicking up small clouds of dust as horse and rider sped down the length of the yard.

As the target neared, Will braced himself against the impact that was to follow. Will tightened his grip on Vrist’s reins and on the body of his lance. He remembered what Nari had told him about jousts in the Human realm—unhorsing an opponent was mostly for show, but ultimately, what decided a match was how well a knight held on to his own horse and whether he was able to shatter his lance on his opponent.

Will breathed deeply as the blunt end of his lance crashed against the armour of the heavy training dummy. For a brief, utterly disheartening moment, only tiny cracks appeared down the length of the lance’s wooden tip. And then, in a shower of splinters that flew over his left shoulder, the lance broke clean in half.

Vrist whinnied and charged forward, Will desperately clinging to the reins as they approached the end of the tilt. Vrist came to a halt and stomped his feet, rearing his head in triumph. Will felt like celebrating too, which he did by pumping a gauntleted fist in the air.

“Well done,” said Phoebus, coming up to Will with something that he had found in Will’s things earlier. It was a circlet strewn with pearls and glittering gemstones, an object of great beauty that Will had spent ten years trying to craft with his own two hands.

The craftsmanship of the piece was evidently lacking, but Will was pretty proud of the way he’d managed to plait and weave the metal to create nests for the gemstones that he’d collected.

“Is the champion’s garland of roses not enough for you, my son?” said Phoebus with a small, knowing smile. He might not have been there to see his son slowly falling in love with their prince, but he knew infatuation when he saw it. “I take it that the boy asked for the stars?”

Will shook his head, a singular tear leaking out from the corner of one of his eyes. Ten long years of hard work was coming to a head. Now, he just had to master his jousting. “No,” he said, with a small smile, “I _promised_ him the stars.”

Phoebus grinned, his pearly white teeth flashing in the light of the setting sun. The lord patted Vrist’s flank and said, to his son, “You better keep up the training, Will. The only way you are winning this tournament is if you unmount that son of Ennos. He is a formidable foe, as you might imagine. There is a reason his father is known as the Lord of Horses.”

 

\----------

 

  1. Qarë vatra vittë stirë Nari fitë`re — What would Nari think of you?

  2. Zanë`za — Begin!

  3. Fîllë jirë Wylder idë`na — You insult me, Wylder,




**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we are, the first chapter of "A Garland of Stars!"
> 
> What did you think? I would love to know? Does the world intrigue you? How about the constructed language? :3. Would you like to learn a bit more of it? :D. Also, when I say that there is a constructed language for this world, I do mean it is a language, not just some sparse words that were thrown together for the sake of them getting thrown together. There _is_ quite the robust language in this world and it can be used to hold conversations, as you will come to see later on in the fic. :3.
> 
> What did you think of Will being a knight? The conflict that was being set up? :3. How do you think Nico and Will meet? :D. I would love to know your answers to all of my questions, and if you have any of your own, I would love to answer them myself. So. Without further ado, I hope you leave a kudos if you like the story and the premise so far, and you're definitely going to be making my day by leaving verbal feedback. <3.


	2. Ten Years Hence

_Nico looked up from where he’d been eating quietly to see that his father had risen. He made to stand up, too, but Kore’s hand on his leg made him stay._

_“I thank all of you who have come to this grand feast today,” said Aides, eyes scanning the crowd of lords, ladies, and their progeny that had come to the banquet hall. Their masks only_ just _hid their identities, but Nico had no doubt that his father knew exactly who was who._

_“I raise a toast to my son, Nykos, whose naming day today marks not only his thirteenth year on this world, but also the day when by law and by tradition, you and I may begin to speak about how he is to be betrothed,” said Aides._

_More than a few lords raised their glasses to that. Nico looked for them, as his father had taught him, and tried to weed out the ones that only wanted the treasure of their kingdom. Nearly all the lords that had raised their glasses were looking at Hades’ richly decorated robes instead of his face. Nico sneered in disgust, but quickly hid his face behind his cup of wine._

_Kore smiled at Nico and patted him on the head. “It seems you have found the lords that you want to avoid, little prince,” she whispered to him, as he fidgeted in his seat and took a bite of the big slab of meat that the servants had deposited on his plate. He looked up at his step-mother and nodded._

_“As much as I appreciate your attendance here today,” said Aides, face hardening as he spoke, “Today is not the day that I give my own son to any of you as though I were simply selling a piece of meat.”_

_Though many of the lords, particularly the ones that had raised their glasses earlier, sputtered in outrage, there were quite a few that were looking at Aides with new admiration. Nico couldn’t help but feel proud of his father._

_Truth be told, though, Nico did not know what he had expected. He knew that Aides_ truly _held many of the other nobles in contempt, calling them greedy swine that only knew the allure of money thanks to the rampant avarice and narcissism that had been allowed to flourish among the kingdoms of man before the Dominion arrived._

_More than the greed, Aides despised the fact that so many of the nobles traded children off to others for political clout. In fact, Nico wondered if the lords that were nodding along to Aides’ words were traded away as children, once, and still bore some resentment to their fathers._

_“Ten years hence,” said Aides, some of the lords muttering angrily, some of them clinging on to his every word, “I shall hold a tournament in honour of my son. I suggest that those among you that would have his hand in marriage seek out his favour. Perhaps he will be swayed to help you then.”_

_Aides turned and locked eyes with Nico. “And since I value my son’s happiness over_ any _political or fiscal advantage that you think you can offer me, I will trust his judgment. He will decide whether the winner of the tournament is worthy of his hand in marriage.”_

_“This is outrageous!” said one of the lords, a man that would have been slightly attractive with his handsome jaw and graying hair, if not for the fact that his face was slowly turning an angry shade of purplish red. “The Dominion has addled your mind, Aides, if you think we will agree to your nonsense proposal!”_

_The lord huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “_ You _should be the one begging us for our daughters’ hands in marriage!”_

_Aides cast his eyes from one side of the hall to the next. Soldiers that were stood in neat columns to either side of the banquet hall began to move. “And you have allowed the ways of old to hold you back, lord Ambir. The Dominion rules over us now, and your ambition for power and wealth will not get you much of the Imperator’s favour.”_

_Aides’ face was stern, and frankly, Nico found, rather intimidating. “Toss lord Ambir out of the banquet hall. I do not wish to see his face unless he learns to accept that the world is changing. If any of his ilk shares his views, then I suggest they leave or face expulsion as well.”_

_Nico sat up, peering over the table at the lord that had dared speak out against Aides. He_ did _so love it whenever his father dispensed harsh justice on people that clearly deserved it. Soldiers clad in black armour with gold trim—the colours of Aides’ house—took the belligerent lord by both arms and dragged him along the central aisle out of the banquet hall._

_“Bytha!” the lord called out, eyes locked with the aging but beautiful dark-skinned woman he had sat with. Nico wondered if she came from the same place that Kore did. He looked over at his step-mother and saw a twinkle in her eye. He decided that Kore definitely knew the woman. “Bytha come out here at once and protest this injustice!”_

_All eyes turned to the woman as she rose from her seat and turned to face her husband. Even Aides seemed to have an amused expression on his face. “I would, my lord,” said Bytha, “but I see no injustice done here. I do however see an old man that should know better acting like a child because he couldn’t sell his own daughter to the highest bidder.”_

_Lord Ambir’s face turned as crimson as a tomato, and Nico couldn’t help but shriek with laughter where he sat. It was improper, but a lot of the other princes were laughing along with him. Even Aides looked like he was suppressing a laugh. Kore was hiding her mouth behind a silken handkerchief._

_The door slammed shut as soon as lord Ambir was shown out. Aides struck the side of his goblet with his fork to bring order to the banquet hall. It took a minute for the last few sniggers from the younger nobles to die down. “Lady Ambir,” said Aides, “Should you ever need shelter from Lord Ambir, you are welcome to seek asylum in our home. My wife has informed me that she would make sure you enjoyed your stay in safety.”_

_Lady Ambir flashed a brilliant smile at Aides and Kore. Considering what he had just seen, Nico was beginning to understand why Aides was so popular with the ladies._

_Given Kore’s offer of enjoyment, and what Nico had heard on nights when he couldn’t sleep, he could only assume that_ Kore _herself was rather popular with the ladies, as well._

_Aides looked about the hall, eyes boring into every noble that dared to return his gaze. “Who else thinks that I should beg that you allow me to betroth my son to your daughters?” Silence was the answer to the question. “And if my son were to wed a man, should he prefer it? Who would stand in the way of that?” The tension that formed in the room was palpable._

_Another of the lords, a portly man wearing a very visible pendant of a golden hammer, spoke up. “It is unnatural,” he hissed, rising from his chair. He grabbed his wife’s arm, but she slapped his hand away, emboldened by the rebellion of Lady Bytha._

_When it seemed that his wife was not leaving, and that his daughter was refusing to budge as well, the man moved to pick up his son. Unfortunately for him, the boy was looking dreamily across the tables at another young man seated next to his handsome father._

_“We—” the lord paused, seemingly at a loss for words now that his entire entourage had declined to go with him. “—I am leaving. Viari damn you—” the lord looked at his wife and his children, “—and you and this entire fucking kingdom.” A few of the younger boys giggled at the profanity._

_Aides smiled, lips thinning in their characteristic manner whenever he was amused. “Veýto gîrë Di’Lertanys idë neto rissë`na 1 d’cilaninnë idë`re2” said Aides. The flush that stained the man’s face got impossibly redder. He looked like he was about to retort with an insult of his own, but Aides simply smiled, held out his arms, and said, “The threats of your god mean nothing to mine.”_

_The doors to the banquet hall slammed shut behind the lord and the few others that had risen to leave with him. Again, Aides turned to the family that had been left behind. “Like with Lady Ambir, my wife and I offer you shelter should you need it, Lady Dyr”_

_The pretty woman, whom Nico_ just _noticed was probably a few decades younger than the lord, nodded at Aides and gave him a sweet smile. “Very well, now that the rabble has shown itself out,” said Aides, “Shall we proceed with the ball?”_

\----------

Nico looked out of his window. It now seemed so long ago, the masquerade ten years ago where Aides had announced that a tournament would be held in his honour, so that he could judge whether its winner would be worthy of his hand in marriage.

Nico looked down over the walls and parapets of the castle, his eyes wandering moonlit stone and dirt and grass. How long had it been since he last visited that hill that had once meant so much to him? Truthfully, he didn’t know.

Nico longed to see a certain young man again, but over the last ten years, he had only been disappointed again and again. He had almost given up hope on the promise that had been made to him so long ago, but some part of him wanted to believe that Will could do it. Another part of him feared that Will had realized that the heavens were too lofty an ambition to reach.

The creaking of the door to his bedchamber drew Nico from his thoughts. He turned to face the door. Another young man stood there, bathed in the pale moonlight that streamed through the one open window in the room. Sharp eyes as green as the seas stared back at Nico with hungry lust.

Nico saw the young man look up and down his body appraisingly, and he couldn’t help but return the favour. Perseus was to be his entertainment that night, after all.

Sex was the one indulgence that Nico allowed himself to have. He was never going to bear a bastard son, no matter how hard his partners tried—and he _did_ encourage them to try _very_ hard—so his father let him have his way. As Perseus slid the coarse tunic off of his torso, Nico decided that he was _definitely_ going to have his way.

At first, Nico reminisced, it had been the stable boy that he had invited into his bed. Eventually, though, the young man’s father, a strict traditionalist and one of the few people that _still_ adhered to Sanctum teachings, found out and put an end to it.

Next had been one of Nico’s bodyguards. It wasn’t that difficult to seduce the soldier once he found out that the young man was single and couldn’t seem to find any luck with either men or women. Unfortunately, Aides had found out about it and had scolded him _thoroughly_ for compromising his own security.

The poor soldier had been reassigned to the opposite end of the castle after that, but last Nico had heard, Aides had helped the soldier find a partner to warm his bed.

Whatever the case was, since then, Nico had had a steady stream of daring young men coming to his bedroom every few weeks or so. The Dominion openly encouraged the exploration of sexuality, though Tretalleri men were some of the _most_ frustrating people Nico had ever had the displeasure of _trying_ to seduce. He’d seen them naked, and they _all_ were reasonably endowed, but apparently they had little to no sex drive whatsoever—except for during certain times of the year.

Perseus cleared his throat and shuffled a little bit, where he stood, shaking Nico from his thoughts once again. Nico looked at Perseus, “Tell me, Prince of Horses, do you believe in the Nine?”

A tinge of red seeped into Perseus’ cheeks. “I do now,” said Perseus. “Father took a while to abandon Viari.” Perseus looked down and tapped the toes of his right foot three times on the floor before looking up again at Nico. “But I swear, I am okay with this, and I know how to please a man.”

Nico laughed as the blush on Perseus’ face, which, frankly, was adorable, deepened. “I shall be the judge of that,” said Nico. He was _more_ than ready to be pleased. For the last three weeks, what with all the preparation for the tournament going on, Nico had only had his hands and the toys, that Korë had had made for him, to give him company during his lonely nights.

Nico stepped away from the window, slipping his arms from the sleeves of his night gown, but not _quite_ undoing the cloth belt that cinched the sheer black silk of it around his waist. Nico looked down his torso and traced his hands down from his chest to his navel. “I wonder,” he whispered, in a sultry voice as he walked toward his bed, “Is the Prince of Horses as well endowed as the beast he’s named after?”

The shyness in Perseus’ eyes seemed to evaporate. The knight’s tunic was tossed aside as he walked to stand in front of Nico. “Why not approach me and find out?” said Perseus, eyes glittering in the darkness of the night.

“Is it my place to seek favour from one who wishes to be my champion?” quipped Nico, as he sat down on the edge of his bed and tilted his head at Perseus. “Or, is it _your_ place to seek favour from me?” he said, with a grin. “Show me,” he demanded.

“Yes, my prince,” said Perseus, fingers flying to the ties that held his breeches up. The smooth silken fabric slid down Perseus’ legs to the floor, rasping as it rubbed against the coarse hairs that covered Perseus’ legs. “D-do you like what you see?” said Perseus, a hint of timidity returning to his voice.

Nico reached out and cupped the full balls and substantial cock that had just been exposed to him. He gave the soft member a few tugs and felt it twitch under his touch. He smiled and looked up into sharp green eyes. He bared his teeth, almost savagely, and said, “It will do.”

It didn’t take very long for Nico to find himself pinned under Perseus, legs splayed to either side of the burgeoning knight. The cloth belt that had been tied around his waist was now undone, the robe in a disarray underneath him.

Nico himself was alight with lust. His manhood was rigid as a rock, and as much as he wanted to reach down between his legs to stroke himself, Perseus’ hands holding his arms above his head would not let him.

As exciting as this position was, Nico couldn’t help but dearly wish that Perseus had had at least the courtesy of allowing him a taste of that deliciously curved cock that was grinding slowly against his. Unfortunately, like most other supposedly “straight-laced” men that had come to his bedroom, Perseus’ idea of sex seemed to be confined to sticking his cock in a warm, welcoming ass.

Nico supposed that things could be worse. Percy could have looked utterly hideous, for one, but the sculpted shoulders, well-defined abdomen, and piercing green eyes left little more to be desired—other than the chance to get to admire those features with either his fingers or his mouth, of course.

Nico decided then that _if_ Perseus won his tournament, that he _could_ live with marrying Perseus. Truth be told, Nico found the prospect of teaching someone, who was raised in traditionalist Sanctum values, the true breadth and depth of sexuality quite exciting.

Nico’s thoughts were immediately derailed when he felt cool fingers pressing warm oil into the cleft of his ass. He rolled his hips, eagerly bucking against the tentative touch. He sighed, relaxing himself, as one of the fingers slowly slid into him.

When Perseus wriggled his finger inside of Nico, Nico couldn’t help but think it wonderful that the knight knew the value of preparation.

When Perseus curled his finger and rubbed the pad of it against that small bundle of nerves inside of Nico, making him keen with delight, Nico grinned. “Ah,” Nico panted, toes curling as Perseus repeatedly stroked that one spot inside of him, “it seems you know how to make this fun, too, eh?” Nico groaned. “There might be hope for you, yet.”

\----------

1 Veýto gîrë Di’Lertanys fitë neto rissë`na — May the Stranger usher you unto peace. Though rissë does mean peace, this is more closely associated to the peace of death rather than peace that is the lack of war. As a result, saying Veýto gîrë Di’Lertanys fitë neto rissë instead of Veýto girë Di’Lertanys fitë neto rissë(May the Stranger guide you unto peace) is considered an insult as the former is a death wish for the party being responded to.

2 di’cilaninnë idë — My lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Here we are. Chapter 2. A little bit more set-up for what is about to go down. :3. I hope you enjoy. I definitely enjoyed writing it. Leave a kudos if you like the story so far, and definitely leave a comment if you'd like to let me know what you think! :3.


	3. A Hilltop Meeting

_Nico lay upon a grassy hill outside of the palace, one that he had taken to calling_ his _hill since he came there so often._

_Nico had his arms folded behind his head, eyes upturned to the heavens, rather the city that the hill overlooked. Nico sighed, glad to be out of the stifling clothes that the masquerade had demanded. Contrary to the heat of the day, the night breeze was cool and refreshing._

_Nico enjoyed his solitude for a moment, accompanied only by the gentle rustling of grass and the chirping of crickets to the night sky. Then, he heard footsteps approaching, each footfall seemingly light and hesitant. “Who goes there?” he said, not rising from where he lay stretched._

_“A prince,” said a strange lilting voice that Nico did not recognize, but one that he found immediately alluring all the same. Warmth rose to his face at the thoughts. He had not even seen the owner of the voice, yet. Nine forbid it was a hideous creature approaching him to take his soul._

_“A prince?” said Nico, raising an eyebrow to the night sky. “A prince would understand the solitude of another, and would know that to approach the other for reasons save urgency is a grave affront,” he said. As intrigued as he was by the other man’s voice, he wasn’t interested in entertaining potential suitors any more._

_“I apologise, truly,” said the owner of the strange voice, one that now trembled with what Nico suspected was trepidation. “But this prince wanted to meet you only once, for this prince was too cowardly to approach the beauty hidden behind a mask of black and silver and gold.”_

_Nico smirked, though his heart skipped a beat. There was something about the earnest way that the other person spoke that called out to him. “What makes this prince think that the beauty would let a coward such as him near?”_

_Nico turned his eyes toward the city, catching a glimpse of wispy hair as he did. He watched the open windows of the many houses down below, each flickering with the light of candles or lamps or what have you, regardless of height of birth._

_“The hope that the beauty would have a heart as kind as his face to offer a second chance to a boy that has never done such a thing before,” said the strange voice, drawing Nico further in with its intoxicating melody. “The hope that a soul looking for a friend would be willing to open to another.”_

_Nico was just thirteen, but he knew an awkward flirt when he heard one. His father had warned him about as much. Theirs was a wealthy kingdom, after all, and who better to go after for favour, as the sharp politician, than the supposed-to-be gullible young child of the king?_

_Yet, Nico knew, somehow, that this flirtation was genuinely awkward. A smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he thought to himself that yes, indeed, he would give stranger, claiming to be a prince, that had come to him in the dead of night, a second chance._

_Nico turned to face his visitor, and nearly choked as all the breath in his body left him at once. Long, luscious hair that flew about in the slight breeze seemed to be made of wisps of gold under the light of the pale full moon that hung above them._

_Nico’s eyes were then drawn lower, to a pair of sapphires as soft and brilliantly blue as the morning sky. Nico could get lost in those eyes rather happily, he imagined. The handsome features on the kind face that came into focus were simply sugar atop an already-sweet treat._

_A moment of silence hung heavy between the two young men, the tension between them almost thick enough to stifle. Eventually, Nico broke the quiet. “I believe I did not see you at the banquet,” said Nico, unable to come up with anything wittier than that._

_Nico raised his mask into the moonlight and tilted his head toward it, somewhat confused, now, as to why he had even brought it out with him onto the hill. “Mask or no,” said Nico, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “I think I would have noticed someone so pretty,” he said. Kore had taught him to be liberal in his praising._

_Nico felt slightly dazed as he reached out with hesitant fingers to touch the other young man’s reddening cheeks. He could_ definitely _get lost in those eyes, he immediately decided. The other young man raised a mask into the moonlight, and though it glittered like his hair, it was a plain and humble one._

_If it weren’t for the rhinestones and the few short but luxurious feathers that dotted the perimeter of the mask, Nico would have said it was one of the masks given as courtesy to the palace livery._

_It begged the question of who, exactly, the stranger claiming to be a prince was. Nico knew well each and every mask that had been at the banquet hall that night, and he was certain that this was not one of them._

_Was the boy in front of him a child of one of the palace servants? Nico doubted it as Aides regularly held dinners for all the servants and their families and he would have seen the boy there. Suffice to say, Nico was intrigued, but he decided not to call out the boy for his lie._

_“Apologies,” said Nico, reluctantly withdrawing his fingers from the other young man’s warm cheek. “I may have been mistaken. I did not mean to be so presumptive with my touch, but you_ are _so pretty.” Nico blushed. “My stepmother taught me to not hold my tongue when I saw something beautiful. Would you be so kind as to honour me with your name?”_

 _The young man smiled, the expression so sweet that Nico half-expected honey to drip out of the boy’s nostrils. He wanted to see it more: the twitch of the corners of the lips, the light that came on in the young man’s eyes, the widening of the smile until it was a lopsided grin. Yes, Nico_ definitely _wanted to see more of that._

_“My father named me Wylder,” said the boy, “but my friends know to call me Will, instead.”_

_An excitement unlike anything he had ever felt before began to bubble up in Nico’s gut. His stomach felt like it was filled with hundreds of butterflies. “And my friends know to call me Nico, instead of Nykos,” said Nico. He scooted over to sit closer to Will. “Perhaps you should regale me with stories about yourself so that we could be friends and so we could call each other by the names that we prefer, instead.”_

\----------

Will had had _quite_ the day. Ten long years, he’d spent training to become a knight worthy of prince Nykos’ hand in marriage, and it was all coming to a head, whether he was ready for it or not, come sunrise the next day.

Will truthfully had _no_ idea why he was so hell-bent on being Nico’s champion, but he remembered, quite fondly, that he had felt _something_ for the prince long before they even officially met.

Will remembered that he had begun pining after the young prince ever since his father was awarded the honour of being lorded and given a village to protect for curing Kore of some obscure disease when he had been young.

Still, Will had to wonder what, exactly, had driven him through ten gruelling years of training to be a knight. Nari’s father, who had been about as true-blooded a Tretallë as could be, who had trained to be a Deathrider in the heartland, who had been Will’s master until he had been deemed ready, had been anything but lenient. As far as Will was concerned, the old elf had been strict to the point of _almost_ being cruel.

Will looked out his window and raised his eyes to the castle that loomed over the city like a dark and silent sentinel. He missed living there, to be honest, back when his father had just been a physician to the court of Aides, and not a lord with a hamlet of his own.

Will’s eyes drifted back down along the castle walls to the hill that he knew, by heart, was the one that he and Nico had first met at. He had to wonder, briefly, if it was the prospect of a promise going unfulfilled that drove him, instead of a deep love with someone that, if he was being honest, had never really been more than just a childhood infatuation.

Perhaps that was the case, thought Will. He definitely couldn’t say that he had remained steadfast, that he had not wavered once from his path. He had taken other men into his bed over the last ten years, too, and Nari’s father had been one of them.

The older elf had been quite receptive to the idea of not only instructing Will in the art of war and in the matters of knighthood, but also teaching him how to please and accept pleasure from another man.

In truth, Will didn’t expect that Nico had saved his virtue for whomever won the imminent tournament. It had been ten long years, since then, and he could not possibly blame Nico for turning to the warmth of others on lonely nights when he, himself, had done the very same thing.

Will even feared, deep down, that the prince had forgotten all about him and his promise. Will wondered how many times he’d sat down in front of his desk, quill in hand, parchment laid out in front of him. He had told himself to _write_ to Nico, but he never seemed able to gather the courage to.

Will sighed. Whatever the case was with his past and his potential future, he doubted that he was doing himself any good by staying up past the time he should with only stray thoughts about the prince to accompany him. He had a big day tomorrow, and he needed whatever sleep he could get.

The only problem was that after a day of training, Will’s body was bone-tired but he still thrummed with residual energy from all the mock-jousting he had to do. The moment Phoebus had revealed that Nari had actually come along to be a sparring partner for him, Will had come alive with a renewed surge of energy.

Eventually, Will had managed to unhorse Nari nine tilts out of ten. They had called it a day, then, but it seemed that Will’s mind didn’t _quite_ understand that the training was over. He really wanted to sleep, but he felt as though he wouldn’t be able to, even if he tried.

Will stared at his hand for a moment, pondering something that Nari’s father had told him. The older elf had said that at the end of the day, when the fighting was done, the best way to get rid of the bloodlust of the battle was to sate it with actual lust.

Will _still_ found it hard to believe that the camps rang out with the sounds of sex when battles were done, but he supposed he wasn’t in any position to tell someone that had _been_ to war and had _partaken_ in whatever sexual debauchery that followed won battles, that it was impossible given the common knowledge about Tretalleri physiology.

Regardless, Will stared at his hand—his most trusty tool to get rid of bloodlust and satisfy his physical lust. Will palmed himself through his breeches and undid the ties of his tunic, feeling constricted in the cloth. His mind’s eye had already resorted to his fantasy of choice: the image of an older Nico, licking him through the coarse fabric of his pants.

“Êýla Nenn`na Nico`za1” Will groaned, soft cock pressing against the palm of his hand as it twitched and slowly came awake. He was half-tempted to tear off his breeches and stroke himself to an earth-shattering orgasm, but he knew it was more fulfilling the more slowly an orgasm was built up. Nari’s father had taught him that much.

Will cracked his eyes open and slid out of his tunic. He made sure he tossed it to a side of the room where it had absolutely no chance of catching fire and burning the house down.

The memory of the one time that he _did_ manage to do that made Will cringe. Thankfully, he had only burned down a small hut in some corner of his father’s lordly estate at their village. He had been going through a phase when he wanted to be ‘alone’ but was too afraid to try and strike out on his own. Needless to say, burning his cottage down had been a lesson in the flammable nature of clothing.

No sooner had he managed to squeeze his cock through his breeches did Will forget all about that embarrassing memory. He palmed himself, stroking up and down his growing length despite the fabric that separated his manhood from his hand. He imagined Nico mouthing at the head of his cock, a warm breath ghosting through the threads of his woollen breeches.

Will was so lost in his fantasy that he never noticed the creak of his door opening until he felt a _very_ real mouth teasing the shaft of his cock. Will jerked away, for a moment, until his eyes met Nari’s grey ones in the moonlight.

“Sh, sh,” said the Tretallë, briefly sitting up to wink at Will. “D’Denë idë`re Csindë veývissë fitë nara s’teýna idë`re2 “ said Nari, before leaning back down to trace his tongue over one of Will’s balls.

Will didn’t know how well he was going to be able to imagine that it was Nico instead of Nari sucking him off, but as soon as Nari’s lips closed around the cloth-clad head of his cock, all distinction between the two began to blur.

\----------

_The festivities did not, as Nico had expected, end after that first night and the masquerade that came with it. There had been another feast—another banquet held in honour of his coming of age. Just as the day before, as the visiting lords and ladies filed back to whatever accommodations they had found or been given, Nico made his way to his hill._

_As Nico watched the stars twinkling high above him, he heard a familiar pair of feet walking toward him. This time, he didn’t have to wonder—nor did Will have to ask for the chance to speak. Will just sat beside him, knees pulled up to his chest._

_This time, though, as Nico looked over at his new friend, there was something_ markedly _different about Will. There was something in the way that Will looked at him, when it seemed as though he wasn’t looking, that made his heart beat fast. “Do you think you will find your destined in there?” said Will._

 _Nico scoffed, though he felt somewhat bad for insulting the genuine naiveté in Will’s voice._ He _thought that the whole idea of a ‘destined’ was nonsense. There was nothing in the Pale Grimoire about promised partners. If anything, the idea was a holdover from when the Sanctum still ruled over the kingdoms of man._

 _Even if it were true, Nico wanted to say that he didn’t_ want _to be destined to any of the princes that had come at the behest of his father. As far as he was aware, they just wanted the riches and political clout that would come from being associated with Aides and his family._

_“There are so many of them there, though,” said Will, with a wistful and hopeful tone to his voice. “So many of them are pretty… So many are handsome…” Will sighed, and Nico couldn’t quite grasp why. “How would you even begin to choose, Nico?”_

_Nico thought it odd, that Will knew of the numbers present at the festivities despite the fact that for the second night in a row, Nico had not_ seen _Will present. He was sure, this time, because he’d spent every moment of his free time looking for Will. Ultimately, the effort had proven fruitless. “I wouldn’t,” said Nico._

 _For some reason, one certainly unknown to Nico, he felt like he owed Will the truth. “Certainly,” he said, “there are some of them that are more comely and pleasing to the eye than the others.” He almost wanted to say ‘_ but none more than you _’ but he quickly decided against it._

_“There are some that actually come to me with genuine interest in me, too,” said Nico. He remembered a boy that had approached him, one that was a few years older but no less enthusiastic. Jason had been the boy’s name, as blond and bright-blue-eyed as Will that Nico had almost been fooled for a moment. “And yet, I feel nothing for any of them.”_

_Nico caught a brief smile on Will’s face, one that quickly vanished when he turned to look at it closer. Silence descended upon the two of them; Will broke it. “The stars look so pretty from this hill,” said Will, looking up at the heavens as though the previous conversation had not even occurred._

_“They are,” said Nico, laying his head back on the soft grass that carpeted the gentle slope of the hill. He set his eyes back upon the glittering, twinkling lights set upon the canvas of the night sky. “They say my sister is up there, the ones that still believe in the Sanctum,” said Nico, sadness slipping into his voice._

_“But I think I’d rather believe that she’s in the Stranger’s embrace than all alone so far up there…“_

\----------

1 Êýla Nenn`na Nico`za — [sensual] Oh Nine, Nico!

2 D’Denë idë`re Csindë veývissë fitë nara s’teýna idë`re — Sun of mine. Pretend that I am him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we begin to see how it is that prince Nykos and Wylder met. :3.
> 
> How did you like this chapter? Leave a comment, I would love to read what you have to say. <3\. I love you all. Sorry for the message being brief, but I'm rather tired today. I was running a D&D campaign in this particular setting/universe. It was lots of fun, but honestly, it was rather exhausting, too. :D.


	4. A Star-strung Promise

Nico had to admit that Perseus was exceeding his expectations—barely, but exceeding them nonetheless.

By the time that Perseus had managed to fit three fingers into Nico’s hole, the prince was a mess. He was shaking so badly from want and need. He wanted to get fucked, period. Whether it was Perseus or someone else was irrelevant. Granted, he _did_ find the curve of Perseus’ cock rather intriguing.

Regardless of Nico’s thoughts on whether it was appropriate to fuck one of the contenders for his tournament, he couldn’t help but melt into Perseus’ arms when he felt the blunt head of the knight’s cock at his hole. “Who would have thought that Aides’ son would be such a slut for cock?” said Percy, voice gravelly and low, just like Nico wanted it.

The knight had been _quite_ hesitant to do any dirty-talking earlier, but Nico had demanded it of him. Nico was _more_ than pleased by the results. A tingle travelled down the length of his spine and pooled in the centre of his groin.

“Yeah, that’s it, isn’t it?” said Percy, nibbling on the lobe of Nico’s ear—something utterly unexpected from someone that was _supposed_ to have only _just_ left the Sanctum faith. It was more than welcome for Nico. “Yeah, buck those hips, slut. You want it inside you, don’t you?”

Nico groaned. By the Nine! He decided that he could _definitely_ live with the idea of spending every night of the rest of his life with Perseus. He was opening up to the idea of marrying the sharp green-eyed knight already. The only thing stopping him was the possibility of Will actually showing up, but gods, Perseus knew _exactly_ what to say to get Nico’s blood rushing.

“I bet that everyone believes that you are just so _pure…_ ” said Perseus, emphasising the word with a roll of his hips. “So… _good._ ” Another thrust left Nico wanting more. All Percy was doing was rubbing his cock up and down the cleft of Nico’s ass and it drove Nico crazy.

“But I think you and I know very well what you are,” said Perseus. “You’re a slut.” A resounding smack echoed through the room as Perseus roughly slapped one of Nico’s ass cheeks. “Cock is what this pretty arse of yours wants, isn’t it?”

Another thrust sent Perseus’ thick and rigid manhood up and down the cleft of Nico’s ass, so tantalizingly close and yet still so far. Nico bucked his hips, trying to force penetration, but it was to no avail.

Perseus rolled his hips, but again, the stiff member avoided the twitching hole. “Êýla`za1” said Nico, when he felt the head of Percy’s cock finally pressing against his hole. “Êýla Nenn`za2 Csîndë thimë Perseus idë`za3” Nico whined as the pressure built but ultimately went away.

The next thrust never came, despite Nico waiting half a minute for it. He cracked one of his eyes open and was rather surprised when he saw Perseus frowning as though deep in thought. Just barely audible to Nico, the knight bit his lower lip and muttered under his breath, “By the Nine, I am _so_ bad at Tretalleri.”

Nico could not help but burst out laughing, his lust for the knight—and any cock in general—momentarily forgotten. Red crept into Perseus’ cheeks as he tried to look anywhere but Nico’s eyes. It was ultimately a fruitless endeavour and almost abashedly, the knight asked, “Perchance you could repeat that in… uh… D’Lyndë Terredynnë4?”

Nico shook his head. “Terrelyndë, for your convenience,” he said. It wasn’t that Perseus was wrong, but practically no one called the common tongue of the Dominion “D’Lyndë Terredynnë”

Normally, Nico would have tossed anyone that dared talk linguistics in the middle of sex out of his bedroom, but the innocent dumbfoundedness on Perseus’ face was downright endearing. “I said,” said Nico, stroking the side of the knight’s face, “Oh! Oh, Nine! Fuck me, Perseus!”

There was a moment of awkward silence as Perseus tried to process what had just been said to him, but then, a slow grin crept across Percy’s lips. Nico sighed as he felt Perseus’ still-hard cock align with his hole. He wrapped his arms around Perseus’ shoulders, his fingers clutching the well-defined blades. “Is that so?” said Perseus, in a voice that was almost threatening.

One thrust forward was all it took to force the head of Perseus’ cock into Nico. The prince cried out in a mixture of pain and rapturous pleasure. “How do you beg for cock in Tretalleri?” said Perseus, teeth grazing along the side of Nico’s jaw. “Actually… How do you beg for a harder fuck in Tretalleri?”

Percy moved his hips, but only _just._ Every thrust was too small to bring Nico any pleasure, but large enough to remind him that Perseus was in charge. “Êyla Nenn`za” Nico complained, bucking his hips until Perseus put a stop to it and grabbed his waist.

“Beg for a harder fuck, my prince.”

Nico cried out when Perseus slammed into him. He felt Perseus’ cock sink into him right down to the hilt, and then just as he thought he was about to get royally fucked, Perseus pulled out until only the head was inside. “Alakrë setirina csândë thimë Perseus idë`za5” Nico whimpered.

Percy grinned and slammed his cock home. Back arching off of the bed, Nico praised the Nine as Perseus pistoned into him almost mercilessly. He was _very_ glad that Perseus hadn’t understood the exclamation, because he had pretty much just threatened Perseus with a horrible fate if Perseus didn’t fuck him.

Nico clawed at Perseus’ back when the knight adjusted their positions to make sure that Nico’s prostate was rubbed by the head of his cock with each and every stroke. Nico hoped he wasn’t being too vicious. He couldn’t tell if his fingernails had dug deep enough to draw blood.

“Ah!” Nico cried out, when Perseus pulled entirely out of him and then slammed back in with no warning. His toes curled, and his thighs tensed from the intensity of the fuck. For a few more precious minutes, Nico was lost in the pleasure of having his hole filled. However, as was par for the course for men that did not know much beyond thrusting and coming, Perseus did not last very long.

Nico hadn’t even come yet—hadn’t even neared the edge of orgasm. Perseus shooting inside him, the warm come gushing against his insides, brought him to the edge. It was not enough to send him over.

Perseus collapsed on top of Nico, cock still firmly inside of the prince. As much as Nico wanted to reach down and stroke himself now, it was impossible. Without meaning to, he rolled his hips, eyes rolling back at the stimulation of having his cock head rub against the firm muscle of Perseus’ abdomen.

“How was that?” said Percy, lazily pressing kisses to the line of Nico’s jaw.

“It could have been better,” said Nico, rubbing his hands all over Perseus’ back as he continued to thrust his rigid manhood up and down the valley between Perseus’ abdominal muscles. He wondered, idly, if he could perhaps convince Perseus to roll over and get fucked. He _really_ wanted to come. “I have not come yet, though,” said Nico.

Perseus reared up as though offended. He looked down, grinned, and rolled his hips. Nico whimpered, realizing that Percy was still hard as a rock inside of him.

“I am ready to go for another, if that is what it takes to get you to come without touching yourself, my little slut,” said Perseus with a lascivious grin. Nico shivered, the words almost sending him careening over the edge then and there.

“Besides,” said Percy, slowly thrusting into and out of Nico as he leaned down to whisper in Nico’s ear, “I want my seed dripping out of this pretty hole of yours as you watch me joust tomorrow. I’ll make sure to bury it deep.”

Nico whined, toes curling and legs clamping around Perseus’ midriff like a vice. The curve of Percy’s cock was so convenient. It thrust at and rubbed that one spot inside him as though made specifically for that. “I want the wetness in the seat of your breeches to remind you of who is going to win your tournament and your hand in marriage.”

Nico weakly slapped Percy’s shoulder. “s’Ladra fitë`na6” he groaned as Percy started to piston roughly into him. “Qarë vatra vittë stirë Di’Lertanys fitë`re7” Nico whimpered as Percy angled the next thrust to give him the most pleasure.

\----------

_It was with great regret that Nico trudged out of the banquet hall that night. The festivities were ending, according to Aides, and despite his best efforts, he_ still _hadn’t managed to find Will among the sons of the lords and ladies that had attended. He almost avoided the hilltop, since melancholy hung about his shoulders very heavily, but he decided that if he was going to find Will, it was most likely going to be at the spot that they had met at twice already in as many days._

_Nico didn’t bother lying on the grass when he got to the hill. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked out over the city that he would one day, perhaps, come to rule._

_“Prince Nykos,” said the now-familiar voice of the boy that Nico spent many of his waking moments trying to figure out. Nico turned to face Will, a small, sad smile on his face. “I know,” said Will, with an adorably awkward shrug, “You do not like being called that.”_

_“But,” said Will, taking another step closer to Nico—a single step closer than he had ever come the previous two nights. “There is something that I must know, and I want to speak to you as a prince seeking the hand of another prince.”_

_“If someone could catch the stars for you and fashion them into a gift worthy of your station, would you perhaps give them a chance to ask for your hand in marriage?”_

_Nico felt his heart skip a beat. His stomach did a backflip or two. He couldn’t even begin to process the question. His mind was running wild with speculation. Was this Will’s way of saying that he had intentions of courting Nico? Nico dearly hoped so._

_The truth was that even after just two nights, Nico was sufficiently intrigued by the boy that stood in front of him that he was willing to agree to an engagement. It was only the fact that he had been taught better, and knew that he had responsibilities as the prince of his people, that kept him from eloping with Will._

_“I think so,” said Nico, with a smile. “Even if that prince just_ tried _to catch the stars for me, it would be enough to prove that they would go through all the trials of the world for me, and I think that no matter who they are, I could come to love them, eventually.”_

_An embarrassingly high-pitched giggle followed Nico’s answer, but it didn’t come from him. He looked at Will with a raised eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching into a knowing smirk._

_The silence between Nico and Will grew deeper and more awkward as the red on Will’s cheeks approached the colour of a plump tomato. Nico couldn’t help but laugh, guffawing and shaking as he listened to the giggle over and over again in his mind._

_As he was shaking, the last thing that Nico expected, was for two firm hands to catch hold of either side of his head. He opened his eyes, scandalized and shocked, until the warm lips that pressed briefly against his drained not only the breath from his lungs, but the strength of his limbs._

_When Will opened his eyes, Nico could see that the other boy was crying. “I will see you in ten years, Nico,” said Will, voice heavy and thick with emotion. “I promise that_ someone _will catch the stars for you. I swear it.”_

_“Veýto vîdmë Di’Lertanys fitë`re 8” said Nico, clasping his hand around Will’s arm. The other boy responded in turn._

_“Neda Veýto girë Di’Teýna fitë neto rissë`re 9” said Will, a soft sob escaping his lips. “Qarë darra fitë idë endë d’karidë fitë`re Qarë tenë vittë nirnë idalfitë ormeýdë retë`re10” he continued._

_Nico took Will’s hand and placed the palm of it over his chest. “Tenë vittë nirnë idalfitë ormeýdë retë`re 11” he said. A moment of silence passed before Nico started snickering at a realization that hit him as soon as he said the words. Nico tapped Will on the back of the head._

_“Will,” Nico whispered, shaking uncontrollably, “Karidë is the heart—the literal heart. The muscle that pumps blood through the body.” Will’s cheeks turned even redder. “Karra is the figurative heart, the seat of emotions and feelings.”_

_“I’m an idiot,” said Will, laughing at his own illiteracy before leaning in and kissing Nico once again. “But I am an idiot that must say farewell, for now.”_

_With that, Will broke away from Nico, still teary-eyed but hopeful. Nico watched as Will turned tail and ran away—toward the city, not the castle. As Will’s back retreated from him, Nico could not help but think that maybe, just_ maybe _there was something to this concept of a ‘destined’ partner._

_Nico had to wonder whether Will was his destined and whether their bond and the promise that Will had made him would stand the test of time._

\----------

  1. Êýla`za — “Oh!” An exclamation that does not have explicit meaning but carries the connotation of lewdness. Not to be confused with Eýla, an innocent exclamation that carries the connotation of joy.

  2. Êýla Nenn`za — “Oh Nine!” An exclamation that is the equivalent of the English ‘oh god,’ particularly the phrase that is stereotypically yelled during sex.

  3. Csîndë thimë Perseus idë`za — Fuck me, Perseus!

  4. D’Lyndë Terredynë — Literally “The Language belonging to the Earth-born,” is the proper name for the common “language” that is spoken in the Dominion: Dominean.

  5. Alakrë setirina csândë thimë Perseus idë`za — Fuck me harder, Perseus!

  6. s’Ladra fitë`re — “You are lewd.”

  7. Qarë vatra vittë stirë Di’Lertanys fitë`re — What would the Stranger think of you?

  8. Veýto vîdmë Di’Lertanys fitë`re — May the Stranger protect you.

  9. Neda Veýto girë Di’Teýna fitë neto rissë`re — And may He guide you unto peace.

  10. Qarë darra fitë idë endë d’karidë fitë`re Qarë tenë vittë nirnë idalfitë ormeýdë retë`re — Keep me in your heart? Until we meet again?

  11. Tenë vittë nirnë idalfitë ormeýdë retë`re — Until we meet again.





	5. A Warrior Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this chapter, my dears. I've been rather busy the past couple of weeks and have almost always missed the Saturday updates for A Garland of Stars. I've been running a Dungeons and Dragons campaign on Saturdays, so I'm afraid that has all my attention most weekends—particularly Saturdays, so I may move the updates to Sundays, instead.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :3.

Nico looked about him, silently cursing the climate of the Southron realm. The heat of the early morning sun was _already_ enough to make sweat drip from his brow despite the relative shade of his current circumstance.

Truthfully, Nico was thankful that his father had planned this stunt for early in the morning. He was not so sure that he would have survived the heat if Aides had been insistent on starting the joust at noon.

Nico noticed that the knights that were supposed to participate in his tournament were spending the early morning milling about, talking to each other, and making acquaintances.

Nico could already see that some of the knights were approaching their competition. He noticed that where some were evidently sizing up the others, there were quite a few coming up to random knights and taking up friendly bets with drinks on the line.

Nico was distracted from his people-watching by a small man, the castle’s Master of Horses, tapping him on the ankle. “Are you ready, sire?” said the man. “And you remember when to begin, yes?”

“I remember, elder,” said Nico, with a smile. He looked down at the Master of Horses as he curtsied. “Not to mention, father literally says ‘begin’ to remind me.”

Nico heard a soft chuckle before the older man walked away. He turned his eyes back to the field and the knights that had already gathered. The stands were filled with people, already, as Aides had promised some sort of spectacle early in the morning to begin the day’s celebrations.

Desperately, Nico searched for the boy—man, now, he guessed—that had evaded him for the last ten years. He was finding it difficult for a singular reason: he had _no_ idea what Will’s family crest even was, or if Will even had one to begin with. In ten long years, Nico had never figured out who the boy was, despite extensive education and research in all the prominent noble families of the Southron realms.

The only possibility now was that Will was from a minor noble family. The trouble with that was that there were so many—and a lot of them had multiple children that Nico just couldn’t find much about.

Nico’s wandering eye caught a familiar green tinted flash in the daylight. It was Perseus, the knight whom he’d spent the previous night with. There was a swagger in the man’s walk, a kind of confidence that could only accompany a man that had spent his life practically _living_ the joust.

In the Southron realm, the House of Ennos was about as close to Tretalleri military culture as could be. It was no wonder the elves were drawn to them and their horses. It was also a matter of certainty that all noble sons of the house were accomplished horsemen.

Perseus had just dismounted his destrier and was now making his way toward one of the less occupied areas in the stands. Leaning against the heavy wooden fence that separated the spectators from the knights in the yard was another knight, chest emblazoned with the lightning bolt symbol of the House of Zovë—one of the first houses to capitulate to the Dominion and had come to embrace its ways openly.

Nico recognized the other knight. It was the blond, blue-eyed boy that he had almost mistaken for Will ten years ago: Jason. Nico couldn’t help but think to himself that Jason looked _rather_ handsome now and was probably even better built than Perseus under all that heavy armour.

Nico watched with great interest as Perseus hopped up and sat on top of the fence beside Jason. It was a feat that left Nico, and apparently Jason, momentarily confused. There was no way that full plate armour was that light, and yet, Perseus had managed to jump a good three feet into the air to sit his ass on top of the fence.

Nico shook his head. The metal was probably something special. He doubted that any of the others that hadn’t been watching would be able to tell as apart from its tint, the only thing superficially special about Perseus’ armour was the black trident painted onto the front of it—the crest of the House of Ennos.

Nico couldn’t help but smile to himself. Displaying the crest of the Horse Lords of the Southron Realm was definitely a form of psychological warfare. It was the equivalent of Perseus standing on top of his horse and declaring that he would win the joust before it even began.

Nico watched the two interact for a little while, frankly intrigued at the way that they interacted with familiarity. It was clear that they knew each other, and, if Nico wasn’t mistaken, Jason was rather _smitten_ with Perseus.

Of course, Nico had to concede that he could simply be _mistaking_ the lingering, _longing_ stares that Jason sent Perseus’ way whenever the son of Ennos was not looking as something else, but that was unlikely. Nico was fairly sure that Jason was _pining_ after Perseus.

Nico smiled to himself, feeling a little bit better about the possibility of his sabotaging Perseus’ chances of winning in case Will showed up to fulfil the promise that he had made ten years ago.

Nico looked away from Jason and Perseus, who seemed to have taken to punching each other in what he could only _assume_ was some brutish way of showing friendly affection. He scanned the field again, eyes drifting from one colourful family crest to the next. It was no use—all the ones currently visible were ones that he knew. Furthermore, he knew that none of them were Will’s.

Nico was about to give up hope of seeing Will again when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a knight dressed in what seemed to be plain armour. There was no paint, no decoration, no strange colouring other than a golden sun that was emblazoned on one of the shoulder plates.

Nico’s heart and mind raced. He distinctly remembered the mask that Will had held up to the moonlight all those years ago. It was difficult to forget such a puzzling piece of fashion. It had been relatively nondescript, nothing special save for a little decoration.

Nico could feel his heart hammering against his chest, and he could almost hear his pulse thundering in his ears. Was it possible? Could it be? He knew the crest all too well, too. The sun was the crest of Phoebus, a court physician that had been lorded by his father when he managed to cure Kore of an intractable disease.

Had Will _really_ been living that close all these years? Phoebus was the governor of a small village, one that did not have any particular agricultural product of note, no more than twenty miles west of the capital.

Kyber, Nico’s black destrier, must have felt his excitement, because the horse immediately took to whinnying and stomping his hooves. Nico briefly considered dismounting and seeking Will out, but Aides did not give him the chance. The king of the Southron realm rose from his seat and declared, “Zanë`za!”

A hush fell over the crowd. Peasantry and nobility both fell quiet. Even the knights that had come to participate seemed quite surprised at the command from out of nowhere. Only then, Nico felt, did the people notice that there were two knights on opposite sides of the tilt.

Nico adjusted himself on his saddle, the heavy plate armour, of a rich obsidian colour decorated with gold highlights and designs, made it somewhat difficult to move. Nico did not need to look over his shoulder at the royal stage to know that there was a smile on his father’s face.

The spontaneous joust had had exactly the effect that Aides had wanted. As much as the tournament was in line with the tradition of their realm, Nico knew that Aides had had about enough with tradition and was intent on breaking from it in whatever way possible.

Nico hefted his lance and looked down the length of the tilt. At the far end of the yard, opposing him was the palace castellan, Rakan a’Dalganë, Master of Arms, Mentor to the Crown Prince—him, and Deathrider to the Dominion, mounted on a steed that was the polar opposite of Kyber.

Where Kyber was smaller and built for speed, Rakan’s mount, a Tretalleri warhorse, had been bred for power, endurance, ferocity, and most of all, unquestioning, unflinching, _absolute_ obedience. More than that, where Kyber was a sleek black—the primary colour of Nico’s house, the warhorse was a pale icy white.

Prince and Castellan, master and student, nodded at each other. Simultaneously, and just as a great cheer came up from the peasantry in the stands, they dug their heels into the flanks of their horses and charged down along the tilt toward each other.

Nico heard a round of gasps from his audience as the decoration on his armour caught the sunlight and made it seem as though he was wreathed in the pale divine fire of the Stranger. Nico levelled his lance at his mentor, trying his best to compensate for the height of Rakan’s warhorse.

Time seemed to slow as Nico approached Rakan. Silently, he asked the Rider to guide his lance. As he did, he felt an insatiable rage well up in the pit of his stomach—the will of the Rider. His arm moved as though it had a will of its own, adjusting his aim to compensate not only for the fact that Rakan’s horse was taller, but that Rakan’s lance was longer and would hit him first.

Nico’s armour rang as Rakan’s lance hit him. The force of the impact almost dislocated his shoulder, where the impact was centred. Nico almost lost his grip of Kyber’s reins but an almost preternatural force kept his gauntleted fingers clasped around them.

Moments later, Nico’s lance collided with the upper left side of Rakan’s torso, just under the rider’s armpit. Another round of gasps rose from the crowd as the lance shattered and Rakan tumbled headlong from his saddle.

The imposing castellan had been unhorsed, and already, the crowd was murmuring about what had just happened. Rakan’s warhorse immediately dug its heels into the dirt, skidding to a stop mere inches away from where its master had fallen to the dirt. It waited, unmoving, for its rider to stand up and mount again.

Nico raised a gauntleted fist in the air as he rode past and around the far side of the tilt. He tossed his lance, tip broken to pieces, to the dirt. He rode with haste toward his mentor and hopped off of Kyber’s saddle with the grace of a predatory cat.

Rakan was on one knee, coughing and clutching the side of his head. “Well done, Nykos a’Aides,” said Rakan with a lopsided grin. He took the arm that Nico extended in his direction and rose to his feet. Nico felt as though the arm he had offered was being torn off at the shoulder when Rakan raised it to the sky, almost lifting Nico off of his feet.

“Look upon your prince,” declared the castellan, voice booming across the arena, “He is as fine a warrior as any who challenge this tournament today.”

Nico ripped his decorated helm from his head and let it fall to the ground with a loud clang. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, but a quick shake of his head from side to side was sufficient to remedy that problem.

Rakan let go of Nico’s arm. Nico rolled his shoulder just to make sure everything was still in the right place. He looked around, eyes challenging instead of welcoming. This was the most important part of the whole thing, his father had said.

“If you thought that it was a pampered prince’s judgment that you would have to face today,” said Nico, his voice thundering across the yard. He silently thanked his speech coach, as well as Aides, who had been a great help with the matter of projecting. “You are sadly mistaken. Trust me when I say that I know a good warrior and a great knight when I see one.”

Nico took a step forward, locking eyes with the nearest knight. He thumbed the crossguard of his sword, freeing it from its scabbard before drawing it. It was a hand and a half long, made of steel that shone black in the sunlight.

The weapon was designed after the fashion of what most human soldiers wore to battle. It had been a deliberate choice, though Nico certainly preferred the curved kind that the Tretallë used. Made of elledtrillë, steel from a fallen star imbued with blood magicks, Nico possessed a blade to rival a Deathrider’s.

Nico spun the sword first to his right side, then his left, and then over his head. While the scream it made as it sliced through the air was not nearly as high-pitched as a Tretalleri blade’s, it was distinctive enough.

Nico swept his blade across the field, pointing it at every knight in attendance. “The terms set on this day ten years ago were that _I_ would decide whether the champion of this tournament is _worthy_ of my hand in marriage,” he said.

A man in red-tinted armour shifted into a very aggressive stance, teeth bared in Nico’s direction. Another knight, a woman by Nico’s judgment, seemed ready to jump on the clearly-angry warrior. “Do any of you have a problem with that?” Nico asked.

Nico turned to face the red knight, unsurprised to find the crimson raven of House Aires emblazoned crudely on the face of the man’s massive breastplate. Aires—and his children—were infamous in the Southron realm for near-barbaric violence at the slightest provocation.

Everyone had hoped that the Dominion’s arrival would pacify the House of Aires, but so far, it had not happened. There were assurances, of course, but it took time to bring ships across the Thundering Sea from the heartland.

“What do you mean that _you_ get to decide whether the winner is _worthy_ of your hand in marriage?” said the red-clad knight. “Of course the winner is worthy of your hand in marriage. He’s the fucking winner. Are you trying to say that we don’t get the prize, even if we win, if you decide we aren’t worth your time?”

“No,” said Nico, trying to put on as diplomatic a tone of voice as he could manage. “The gold that was promised to the victor _will_ go to the victor regardless of my judgment,” he said, as he planted the tip of the sword on the ground between his feet.

Nico rested the palms of his hands on pommel of his sword, stylized to look like a sleek black three-headed dog. “However,” said Nico, “the real prize, marriage into my family, into my noble line, and into the wealth of my kingdom, is _not_ guaranteed.”

There was a subdued, but clearly angry murmuring especially among the lords and ladies of other lands that had come to try their lot at earning a fraction of Aides’ wealth. “However,” said Nico, with a smirk, “In the interest of fairness, my father has given me the privilege of altering the agreement however I wish, within reason, of course.”

“So,” said Nico, looking at the lords and ladies that had now fallen quiet and were intently clinging to his every word. “I say this now. I _can_ be persuaded to marry whomever wins the tournament regardless of my personal opinion on the matter.”

The son of Aires grinned, his teeth appearing almost bloody from the slight crimson-tinted light that was reflected off of his armour. “The conditions are simple. If these knights do not wish to face my judgment, then all they will have to do is draw first blood against me.”

Nico kicked his sword into the air, its black blade flashing as it spun. He caught it with his open palm and pointed the tip at the son of Aires. “Shall we cross blades, sir knight?” he said. “Or do you lack the valour to face me?”

The red-clad knight thumped his chest with a gauntleted fist. “I thought you would never ask,” said the giant of a man. A squire—one of the few that littered the yard—walked up to the son of Aires and held out a sheathed greatsword. The knight drew the weapon in a single motion, sending the poor boy flat on his back in the dirt.

The knight ran at Nico with great lumbering steps. Each footfall felt like a miniature earthquake, but perhaps the most impressing feat that the knight displayed was holding the greatsword aloft with a single hand when most men struggled to hold it with two.

It did not take Nico very long to see the weak spot in the knight’s admittedly poor armour. It was clear that the warriors of the House of Aires were more interested in offense than defense and there was a very prominent lapse in protection behind the knight’s knee.

“Remember,” said Rakan, gently. The Deathrider walked by Nico with his horse in tow, unfazed by the duel that was about to happen. “The bigger they are, the longer it takes for them to stop.” Nico smiled. He knew that his master knew that. It was more a thinly-veiled insult of the son of Aires, whom the Tretallë looked at with barefaced disdain. “Use your size to your advantage, little prince.”

Nico laughed. He kept track of the son of Aires from out of the corner of his vision, but he was not concerned at all. He was more than glad to keep the conversation going.

“Master,” said Nico, “Kore stopped using that name for me years ago.”

Rakan smiled. “But is it not the truth, D’Felli Aides? Shall I find some other suitably truthful name that you might not find as pleasing?”

Nico shook his head. “Good,” said the castellan. Nico knew that he was never going to be as tall a man as his father, but Rakan had done a good job teaching Nico how to use his relatively humble height to his advantage.

Where Rakan’s fighting style was focused on a delicate dance between offense and defense, deception and evasion lay at the heart of Nico’s. Nico waited until the last moment before he sidestepped the son of Aires’ charge—as well as the swing of the greatsword that followed—and walked forward.

“Hey!” the red-clad knight yelled, recovering from the missed charge. “don’t turn your back on me!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” said Nico, without looking back. He raised his blade to the sun, revealing the crimson that clung to its obsidian tip. A chorus of gasps erupted from the spectators nearest to him, as well as the ones directly behind the son of Aires. From some distant place, Nico heard Perseus call out what he could only assume was supposed to be a “manly” compliment. “You have already lost.”

“What?” said the son of Aires, genuinely confused. “What do you mean? Come back here, you brat!”

“Check the back of your knee,” said Nico, matter-of-factly. He swing his sword up over his shoulder, the blood from its tip splattering across the ground. “You will find that I have, _in fact_ already drawn first blood.”

Nico heard angry breathing followed by an incoherent howl of rage, a baseless, nearly-incoherent accusation of cheating, and then a choked scream that ended with a loud clang and a thud.

Nico turned about and saw that the son of Aires’ face was firmly planted on the ground, Rakan’s boot square on the knight’s back. Of course his mentor had been able to disarm and subdue the brute within seconds.

“Is he the only one fool enough to challenge me?” said Nico, turning to the rest of the knights as he held his blade to his side. None of the men stepped forward, and Nico couldn’t help but pout. “Oh,” he said, trying to sound genuine. “You disappoint me.”

Nico took a few more steps toward the royal stage before turning to lock eyes with the man that he was _certain_ was Will. “No one else?” he sighed, deeply. “Good. Then, the agreement stands. You may win this tournament, but _I_ still _choose_ who it is that wins my hand in marriage.”

Behind him, Nico faintly heard Aides say to Kore, “See? Having him take charge of his own tournament was a _great_ idea. Now _I_ don’t have to do anything but watch, and the people are _loving_ him.”

Nico stepped out of his armour with the help of his squire. In only linen breeches and a tunic that left little to the imagination since it was soaked with sweat, Nico climbed up the side of the royal stage and jumped over the banister to stand behind the podium that should have been Aides’. Sure enough, just as Aides had said, the peasantry erupted in cheers.

Nico waved at them and bowed as graciously as he could manage. “It is my honour, today, to welcome all of you to this tournament of champions,” he said. “We will adjourn for two hours to make preparations for the proper beginning of the tournament, but I hope that all present enjoyed our rudely-interrupted spectacle.”

The cheers grew louder. “IstLertys gureh dinë,1 said Nico, rubbing his throat afterwards. He didn’t know why, but his body always found speaking IstOrryk offensive.

Regardless of Nico’s attempt to speak the language of the masses—the one that people remembered from before the Dominion arrived—the crowd went wild. “Urkë domen,2” they responded.

\----------

1 IstLertys gureh dinë — Stranger protect you.*

2 Urkë domen — And you.*

* Unlike the translations in previous chapters which were of the Tretalleri dialect of the Language of the Elves, these translations are from IstOrryk, the language of the races of Man. It is universally spoken among the three races of Man: the Dwarves, the Orcs, and the Humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how did you like this chapter? :3. Prince Nykos a'Aides showing off his skills to the people. This kid ain't a damsel for the rescue, let it be known. :D.
> 
> Leave a kudos if you like the story so far, and leave a comment if you want to make my day. That's certainly going to be wonderful. :3.


	6. Doubt

When the crowd that had gathered for the early morning had begun to disperse, Nico vaulted over the banister, landed on the dusty yard, rolled across the ground, and then jumped to his feet, arms raised to either side of him as though he had just performed a great acrobatic feat.

What few spectators remained politely clapped their hands as they laughed. “Fantastic form,” said Rakan, walking up behind Nico and patting him on the shoulder with enough force to make him pitch forward and almost lose balance.

Nico looked about and spotted the field of tents that had been set up behind the royal stage for the knights that had started coming in some two or three weeks prior to the tournament.

The castle was definitely large enough to house most of the dignitaries that had attended—and it did—but most lords and ladies sought out accommodations elsewhere. Some were in residence at estates that dotted the outer perimeter of the city. Frankly, Nico thought that a tent was _wonderful_ , as despite everything Aides attempted to help the situation, the interior was simply too stuffy this time of the year.

“Where are you going, boy?” said Aides with a small smile as he descended the staircase at the side of the royal stage. “The stunt is over! You did fantastically well. You should celebrate. Come with us, get changed into something more suitable for the weather.”

Nico looked down at himself and realized that his silken tunic was clinging to his body—drenched in sweat. The sight left very little to the imagination and Nico’s musculature, developed through ten years of intensive martial training, showed _very_ well indeed.

“Stop calling me boy, father,” said Nico, baring his teeth in a playful snarl. He knew his father didn’t mean it, but he still liked to poke fun at Aides for seemingly never getting used to thinking of Nico as anything more than a more-than-averagely capable, responsible, and independent young man despite being some seven years older than the age of manhood in their realm.

Aides laughed and ruffled Nico’s hair as he walked by. Nico decided to walk with his parents for a little while. It looked like they had something to say to him. “Don’t you see, dear husband,” said Kore, placing a gentle hand on Nico’s arm as she walked up to his other side. “Our little prince has found a boy!”

“Where is he?” said Aides, looking around rather dramatically. “I have a duty to fulfil as a father! I must make him fear me such that he risks pissing himself at the very sight of my approach.”

Nico playfully punched Aides in the shoulder. “You will do no such thing, father,” said Nico, as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. “If there is anyone that he must fear it is me. I know that the way to a man’s obedience is through his cock, father mine. I will make him quiver in fear of having no company but his hand’s if he crosses me.”

“Oh,” said Kore, with a knowing smile. The blush on Nico’s face deepened. He had always suspected that his step-mother knew about Will, but he had never been sure enough. The look she sent his way, however, was proof positive that she had known for some time. “Your father knows that fear _very_ well, little prince.”

Nico looked over his father’s shoulder at the array of tents that lay beyond the royal stage. They made their way out of the jousting yard, and it wasn’t until they had taken quite a few steps that Nico realized they were headed toward the back of the spectator stands.

Nico noticed that his father was looking at him with a bemused expression. “I have not seen him in ten long years, father,” said Nico, “You will forgive me for being more than a little bit excited.”

Aides grinned at Nico. Smiles were something that Aides did liberally in private company, but grins were another matter entirely. Nico felt somewhat shocked to see his father’s pearly-white teeth, truth be told.

Aides elbowed Kore as Nico scanned the tents for the pennant flag of the House of Phoebus. “Even better that I had insisted on making that stunt happen, then, no?” said the king. “I bet that the poor young man was instantly stiff as a rock in his breeches the moment Nico removed his helm, don’t you think, darling?”

Kore rolled her eyes, while Nico simply watched with thinly-veiled amusement as Aides glorified himself for no apparent reason. “Was it not perfectly planned and executed on my part, darling wife?” said Aides, holding out his hand for Kore to take.

The queen, as far as Nico was concerned, seemed to be more than happy to play along, but he also knew that she was famous for her _scathing_ sarcasm. “It was truly a plan worthy of a general,” said Kore, mockery dripping in copious amounts from her tone. “Perhaps the Imperator would rescue you from kingship to place you upon the battlefield.”

Aides’ face turned briefly red at the jab, but he quickly regained his composure. “Well,” said Aides, turning to Nico with a forced stern expression. “Go on,” said Aides, “go find the boy that you are going to choose as your favoured for this tournament. I trust that Di’Marrë has told you what you must do, yes?”

Nico nodded. He was about to take a step forward when he rocked back on his heel and looked at his father. Something had been bothering him for the last few days. “Must we really resort to such things, father?” said Nico. “Would it not be an affront to tradition, to chivalry, and to honour to guarantee a victory for my favoured?”

Nico _dearly_ wanted Will to win, but he was not so certain about making such a possibility a certainty through dishonourable means. “It would make a mockery of this very tournament, father. Am I, and the other lords of this realm, to accept that this was merely a farce that _I_ could toy with freely?”

Nico looked around, but it did not seem as though there were any unsightly characters eavesdropping on their conversation. Aides led Kore over to a rounded boulder that had been used as a marker for where to construct the royal stage. The builders had rolled it in, for a laugh, and had never quite managed the strength to remove it. The queen gracefully sat down atop the stone.

“Tradition is a word that can bite me,” said Aides. The almost-carefree expression he wore dissolved into the more glum and realist one that Nico was used to. “I have heard enough of that word from the court and I am sick of it.” Aides shook his head. “Chivalry and Honour. Yes, those words still carry some value, but this is not the battlefield of the body, my son. Chivalry and Honour only go so far on the playing field of the nobility.”

“Deceit and manipulations are what we deal in. How many of our servants, do you think, have been bribed to interfere with the contest?” Nico had no answer for that. He was well aware that the number was irrelevant—only the quantity. Too many. Aides paid his livery well, but every man and woman had their price. “This is the great game of lords, Nico. While I _admire_ your idealism, I am not so certain that this is the most fitting place for it.”

“Remember, my son,” said Aides, as he walked up to Nico. “There is more at stake in this tournament than gold, a title, and bragging rights.” Aides shook his head. “The future of the crown that you will one day come to wear begins today, and your happiness will forever be affected by what you choose to do when the sun sets and a victor is named.”

“If the tournament does not go as you desire, what will happen, then?” said Aides.

“The Dominion has made it clear that it will refrain from meddling in disputes between the different Human Kingdoms, Nico,” said Aides. “If I refuse to honour the agreement made ten years ago because your favoured did not win the tournament, then it may very well be the case that—”

Nico did not need to be told. “I know, father,” he said, “war will come.” Nico wondered, idly, if it was an inevitability already. Surely, he had done enough to gravely insult Aires, what with the humiliation he had dealt to the warlord’s son and champion before the tournament had even begun.

Nico was well aware that they were already treading on thin ice with Aires, and while the warlord likely had his excuse to declare war on Aides’ kingdom, the other lords would likely be uninterested in joining him unless the agreement was broken.

“I appreciate your concern, father,” said Nico, “But I am not a child any more. I want to marry someone who is honourable and _worthy_ of my hand. How can I know this if I simply hand the victory to my favoured on a silver platter?”

“Besides, father,” said Nico, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “Whomever wins the tournament is sure to be a capable fighter,” he said. “We might not know how honourable that champion will be, but do not forget that I am a warrior myself. I know how to ride and fight as well as any of these knights.”

“If necessary, I can keep whomever the champion is in line.” Nico glanced at the tents again, though this time his eye was drawn to the only one flying two banners—the three-headed dog of the House of Aides, and the golden sun of the House of Phoebus. “And should it come to that, I will put aside love and my own happiness for the sake of the kingdom.”

Kore stood up and straightened her dress. She walked up to Nico and stroked the side of his face. “You have surely grown into a fine man, Nico,” she said, “and your father and I are certain that when the time comes for you to accede to the throne, you will be a wonderful king to our people.”

“Go to him,” said Kore, glancing at the same tent that had caught Nico’s eye. “Find your destined and everything else shall follow.”

“Besides,” said Kore, looking over her shoulder and glaring at Aides, “ignore all this nonsense talk of war. I have it on good authority that full-scale war runs contrary to what the Dominion wishes and at best, there will be a few minor skirmishes before the Dominion steps in.”

Aides frowned, but said nothing. He turned to Nico. “If you would have it, I would give you my advice. Ask your favoured to partake. How he responds shall perhaps help you in determining whether he _is_ a worthy partner.”

\----------

Nico spent ten minutes pacing in front of Phoebus’ tent. He couldn’t think of what he would say to Will once he saw him again. Was he supposed to be angry, since Will hadn’t even _written_ to him in ten years? No. He felt that getting angry was disingenuous since he felt more frustrated and relieved than actually angry.

Nico was very much frustrated that he hadn’t once managed to find out who Will was until he was standing, quite literally, on the threshold of meeting Will again after ten years. Had Will changed in that decade? If he had, did he change for the better or for the worse? Did Will even still remember him?

All the talk about Will being worthy or not worthy of his hand in marriage had even gotten Nico thinking about the whole idea of worthiness. Of course, he might think that Will was worthy of his hand, but that all rested on the assumption that _he_ was worthy of Will’s hand.

For all intents and purposes, Nico was on the verge of having a mental breakdown. He had never doubted himself or his motives this much in his life, and the constant fluttering of butterflies in his stomach certainly did not help. He was supposed to be a prince, all put-together and regal. Frankly, he felt just as jittery and nervous as the first time that he had enthusiastically put his cock in the stableboy’s mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nico could see that Aides and Kore were watching him walk back and forth in front of the tent. They had amused smiles on their faces and Nico was half-tempted to walk back to them, slap them across their smug faces, and tell them that they weren’t helping in the least.

Then again, Nico supposed, they would just find it rather funny.

“Li-tenfi dermë teýna fitë kirasi vivital wikârda`na qarë konë fitë ζ`re1” Nico jumped, surprised to find a young Tretalleri man stepping out from behind the tent. He cursed himself silently for having not noticed. “Qami qakonë fitë d’norë teýna`re2” said the elf, the expression on his face almost sad and regretful.

Nico was taken aback. He had never actually heard the common form of Tretalleri spoken before. There were some of the elves among the citizens of their kingdom now, but Nico had never quite had the privilege of speaking with them.

His mentor Rakan was of the Blood in the Dominion, and thus spoke formal Tretalleri. Similarly, Nico’s tutors had never taught him the informal structure of the language used by the commoners. He understood enough as the two modes of the language were not wildly different, but Nico had no idea whether it was appropriate to respond in the formal manner.

Nico decided that it was better to respond in Dominean. It was the most diplomatic way. “I have been waiting for him as well,” said Nico. “He never once wrote. He never once visited. He never once showed that he even remembered me. How am I to know if he is honourable?”

“Qarë erzë karra fitë`re3” said the elf, eyes narrowing at Nico. “Qarë qirë fitë leral pirë nedë teýna`re4”

The elf walked up to Nico, stepping right into his personal space. Nico was not blind. He knew that just like all the other elves, this one was a well-trained warrior. His own warrior instincts kicked into gear as they both sized each other up in an instant. It was unsettling, to say the least.

“My heart…” Nico shook his head. “I have not listened to my heart for a long time, but it tells me that I will find the same pure-hearted boy that I met ten years ago,” he said. “And it’s not him that I doubt… I doubt myself.”

“Qami anmenë fitë ζ enkarë`re leral kira t’jorë`re5” said the elf, as he pulled aside the tent flap. Nico couldn’t help but look inside. “Daennë d’denë idë fitë`re6”

Nico was about to step into the tent when he realized what the elf had just said to him. He froze, heart pounding in his chest. Had Will found another lover in the ten years since they had last met? Was that why Will had never written? “Your sun?” he said, voice faltering despite his best effort to calm himself.

“Wyna`na d’denë idë siltanë teýna`re Romnë idë teýna neltë nilkontë dorë fitë ζ`re7” said the elf. “Nari nakhidë`na Nykos a’Aides qor’Cilaninnë dirë D’Ferindë Aides`re8”

Somehow, Nari’s words and introduction did not make Nico feel any more reassured. There was no conceivable world where “D’denë idë” was not a term of endearment.

Nico briefly considered maybe walking away to protect himself from getting hurt, but he had been waiting for this reunion for far too long. Perhaps he was simply getting ahead of himself and jumping to conclusions without first examining the situation—a fatal mistake when it came to playing the game of the nobility.

Nico narrowed his eyes at Nari before walking into the tent. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Will sitting on a threadbare cot, chest bare, armour gleaming on a pile beside the foot of the bed.

Nico’s throat immediately felt dry the moment he saw the sheen of sweat that clung to every curve and muscle of Will’s form. Nico could not help but think that Will had grown into the kind of man that would receive marriage proposals flung at him left and right had he been higher born.

Nico was half-tempted to fling a proposal at Will himself. “N-Nico!” said Will, distracting Nico from his less-than-appropriate thoughts about what he would like to do with the sizeable package nestled between Will’s legs. “W-what are you doing here?”

Nico opened his mouth to answer, but his eye caught the gleam of something that Will had been holding. He _tried_ to take a look, but the moment he did, Will _hurled_ the object into a plain velvet-lined wooden box and slammed the lid shut.

“I-I mean,” said Will, trembling as he got down to one knee, head bowed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, my prince?”

\----------

1 Li-tenfi dermë teýna fitë kirasi vivital wikârda`na qarë konë fitë ζ`re — He has been waiting for you for ten years, you know?

2 Qami qakonë fitë d’norë teýna`re — Do you doubt his honour?

3 Qarë erzë karra fitë`re — What does your heart tell you?

4 Qarë qirë fitë leral pirë nedë teýna`re — Do you not have faith in him?

5 Qami anmenë fitë ζ enkarë`re leral kira t’jorë`re — Why hesitate, then? There is no reason to worry.

6 Daennë d’denë idë fitë`re — My sun needs you.

7 Wyna`na d’denë idë siltanë teýna`re Romnë idë teýna neltë nilkontë dorë fitë ζ`re — Yes. He is my sun. I love him, but not as you do.

8 Nari nakhidë`na Nykos a’Aides Qor’Cilaninnë dirë D’Ferindë Aides`re — My name is Nari, Nykos son of Aides, Prince of the House of Aides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for this chapter being so late. I've just been very busy and haven't really had a chance to do anything with regard to fanfiction for a little while.
> 
> I do hope you enjoy this, though. I certainly enjoyed writing it. :3. Leave a comment! I'd love to read what you have to say! I promise. The next couple of chapters will come faster. I should have some time on my hands now.


	7. Trust

Nico tilted his head at Will, trying his hardest not to laugh at the knight on bended knee in front of him.

“None of that, now,” said Nico. He motioned upward with his hand and smiled as Will rose to his full height. Nico felt a stirring somewhere in his loins at the sight of Will’s stomach muscles flexing. “Approach your prince,” he said, without a second thought.

Nico could see the hesitation in Will’s every step, but eventually, Will came to stand in front of him. Will _loomed_ over him by a full head in height. Inwardly, Nico couldn’t help but grit his teeth. They had been the _same_ height when they were younger. What the fuck had happened to make Will significantly taller than he was?

It took all of Nico’s willpower not to run his fingers over Will’s chest in admiration. Even _his_ build was much slighter than this. Then again, he fought with quite a light weapon and forwent a shield. Instead, Nico forced himself to embrace Will.

Will’s skin was warm against Nico’s, and again, he felt that stirring between his legs. It didn’t help that he could feel Will stiffening against his leg, too. How many times, Nico wondered, had he imagined how he would be reunited with Will? Truthfully, this was far beyond anything that his mind could have come up with.

Nico pulled away, smiling. He felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes but he wilfully ignored the sensation. “Qarë linnë darra fitë idë endë d’karra fitë`re1” Nico whispered, as he placed his hand on Will’s bare chest.

Nico could have sworn he felt the thumping of Will’s heart. He wondered how fast his own was beating. He could hear his pulse thundering in his ears.

Nico wanted nothing more than to _ravish_ Will where He stood. However, fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on which part of Nico was asked—he knew well enough that as a noble, and a prince no less, he had to maintain his composure. At least for now. He was well aware that he could have his merry way with Will whenever he wanted once Will won the tournament.

“Endë d’karra idë siltanë fitë`re2” said Will, taking a step forward. Nico stood his ground, blushing fiercely as Will leaned forward to touch their heads together. “I have missed you, my prince,” said Will, softly, “I did not think that you would remember me.”

“How could I forget the only boy that came to find me when the festivities were over?” said Nico. “The only one that _begged_ for the chance to know me, instead of acting like he deserved my time to begin with?” Nico smiled. “How could I have forgotten the one boy that had thought to befriend me before trying to woo me?”

Nico’s blush deepened as Will took a lock of his dark hair, which had been plastered to his face with sweat, and tucked it behind his ear. “I have missed you, too,” he said.

Nico slapped Will across the face, leaving a very noticeable red hand print on the knight’s bronzed skin. “I suppose I deserved that,” said Will, with a nervous laugh.

“You are damn right you deserved that,” said Nico, trying his best to sound exasperated but unable to help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You do _not_ steal a boy’s heart and then _disappear_ for ten years.”

“One would think that a man with an ambition to be a knight,” said Nico, “would have some honour. By the Nine! Do you know how _difficult_ it was to figure out exactly who you were?”

Nico was definitely _not_ the type to vent, and yet here he was, spouting all of his frustrations at the object of them. “You could have at _least_ had the decency to write!” He was keenly aware that he had considered anger disingenuous before he entered the tent, but now that he had confronted Will, it felt _good_ to let it all out. “How difficult was it to find some parchment, pick up a quill, write a few words, and send a courier to the palace?” Nico shook his head. “By the Nine! Your village is no more than a day’s ride away!”

Will was blushing fiercely by the time that he straightened, fingers lingering on the spot where Nico had slapped him. “I _did_ say I deserved that, did I not, Nico?” he said, with a smile. “I was afraid that you would find out that I was not actually a prince but just a lowly son of a minor lord.”

“Did you take me for a fool ten years ago?” said Nico, smiling. “I have always known that you were not who you said you were, but I liked you enough that I let it go.”

“I understand why it is that you did what you did,” said Nico, tracing his fingers over the curve of Will’s shoulder. “While that does not make lying to me right, I know that were I in your position, it was what I would have done as well.”

“I… um…” Nico trailed off, not sure where else to take their conversation. “I ran into an elf named Nari outside. He seemed very… protective.” The blush on Will’s face deepened, and Nico couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

“He always is,” said Will, motioning for Nico to take a seat on the small cot. “He always will be, I feel. I tell him that I am a capable knight, and he always seems to just _laugh_ at me.” Will chuckled, and again, Nico felt a twinge in his chest. “He has been my best friend for the last ten years.”

“Is that all he was to you?” said Nico, softly. It was not like him to lose control of his tongue, but he had blurted the words out before he could even process them.

“Yes,” said Will, emphatically. Will reached over and placed his hand over Nico’s knee. “He is but a friend. We have shared a bed many times in the last ten years, so I hope that you can forgive me for that. Once, I might have entertained the thought of _being_ with Nari, but my mind _and_ my heart have always wandered back to you.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Nico, blushing deeply. “I have had a number of men share my bed over the last ten years, as well. There is only so much pleasure a hand and the mind’s eye can bring, no?” Nico shook his head. “I hope that I am not being inappropriate, but I found Nari somewhat… odd.”

Nico looked up and saw a knowing smirk on Will’s face. “Did he come up to you and start speaking in Common Tretalleri?” said Will. Nico was somewhat surprised. “Do not worry. It is something that everyone wonders about, whether they admit to it or not.” Will’s face drooped for a moment. “However, it is all that he knows, Nico.”

“Give Nari a sword and he will show you a hundred places on a man that will bring him to his knees. Give him a pen and he would not be able to tell one end from the other.” The smile on Will’s face was small—and a sad one, at that. “He understands formal Tretalleri, but he understands Dominean only partly.”

Nico could tell that Will was deep in thought. “Nari has _never_ been able to read,” said Will. Nico frowned. Reading was wonderful. To not be able to read… by the Nine he shuddered at the thought. “His father told me that as a child, Nari’s educators quickly figured out that his mind not so much failed to grasp the Tretalleri script, but rather garbled it to the point of incomprehensibility.”

“It is why Nari has such trouble learning languages,” said Will. “Nor does it help that he is somewhat obsessed with learning to fight—and the idea of protecting the people that he loves.”

“Nari’s father doesn’t quite know what Nari’s true condition is, and even Di’Mârrë cannot give him a substantial answer.” Will shook his head. “Suffice to say, Nari is atypical.”

“Perhaps,” said Will, slowly. “Perhaps it _is_ inappropriate for you to be asking why Nari is, as you put it, ‘ _odd_ ,’ but it is understandable as you likely do not encounter people like him often, being of high-born blood.”

“However,” said Will, “whether such a question is forgivable is a question that you must ask _him._ ”

“Has he been listening this whole time?” said Nico, frowning.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed the pair of shadows under the canvas just behind me,” said Will, looking down with a half-grimace. “You could _try_ to tell him to give us privacy, but I’m afraid that until you earn Nari’s trust, he will find a way to try and protect me—whatever that may mean.”

Nico chuckled. “You make me wish that I had a friend like him,” said Nico.

A few moments passed in awkward silence between the two of them. “I appreciate your visit, Nico,” said Will. “Seeing you again is wonderful, truly, but you _still_ haven’t answered my question… Why did you come here?” said Will, narrowing his eyes at Nico.

Nico sighed and and returned Will’s gaze. “Is it truly all that mysterious that the patron of the tournament is visiting his favoured knight?” said Nico. Will raised an eyebrow in response. “Alright, alright,” he said, “but first, you wouldn’t happen to have a cup of water handy, would you? I am parched after that stunt father made me do.”

“It seemed like you rather enjoyed that stunt,” said Will, with a guarded smile. “I’m afraid I do not ha—” There was a rasping sound followed by sloshing. Will nearly jumped off of the cot. When Nico looked down, he saw a pale hand clutching a brass cup filled with water jutting out from under the canvas wall of the tent.

“I take that back,” said Will, leaning down to pick up the cup. “It seems that providence has given me water,” he said, with a smile. “Jadë danë Nari`re3” said Will.

Will’s thanks were quickly followed by a sharp “Sh!” from outside the tent that left Nico giggling helplessly.

When Nico had sufficiently calmed down, he reached out for the cup of water and took a swig from it. He made sure to leave some more water inside, for later. “The son of Aires,” said Will, “was that a part of the stunt, too? I can’t imagine that Aires would have been too happy agreeing to such humiliation.”

Nico shook his head. “No,” he said, “however, as my father pointed out, it was an inevitability. That Aires and his brood know nothing but war and violence—it’s no wonder they were one of the first to follow the Dominion thinking that they would get to stain their blades with the blood of their fellow Men.”

Nico set the cup down on the cot between himself and Will. He thumbed an inch of his sword out of its scabbard. “Do you trust me, Will?” he asked. He was afraid of the answer.

“You have failed to give me reason not to, thus far,” said Will. It was a guarded and diplomatic answer. Truthfully, Nico couldn’t have asked for a better one.

“Then I ask that you extend your trust to this,” said Nico. He sliced his thumb with the exposed blade and let a single drop of blood fall into the water. He picked up the cup and gently sloshed the liquid inside.

Eventually, the clear liquid swirling inside the brass cup took on a crimson shade. “Drink,” said Nico, “This is the sign of my favour. May it give you strength.”

The silence between Nico and Will stretched until it was uncomfortable. Will had a conflicted look on his face. It wasn’t a good sign. Nico felt his chest tighten around his heart. The last thing that Nico expected was for Will to slap the brass cup out of his hand. It fell to the ground with a clatter, the liquid inside darkening the dry dirt floor of the tent.

Nico tried his best to look angry and indignant, but he wasn’t so sure he succeeded at hiding the relief that he felt. “You asked me if I trusted you,” said Will. “The truth is that I would trust you with my life—even if I know that it is likely not the best idea.”

“However,” said Will, “I know that the nobility likes its games. I have seen the manipulations play out time and time again. I happen to know what you are doing. I remember that your father said you would aid your favoured.”

Will looked over at where the cup lay on the ground. He reached across the space that separated him and Nico. “How am I to find out whether I am worthy of your hand if you do not give me the chance to fight for it?”

“I thought you an honourable man, Nico,” said Will. There was a hint of disappointment in the knight’s voice. “I would like to believe that you would not stoop so low as to ask me to renounce my dignity just to assure that I would marry you.”

Nico smiled. He threw his arms around Will. “No,” he said, “I would never do such a repulsive thing.” Nico pulled away, hands on Will’s shoulders. “I knew you would make the right choice,” he said. “I pray that the Stranger guide your hand to victory for me.”

\----------

1 Qarë linnë darra fitë idë endë d’karra fitë`re — Did you keep me in your heart?

2 Endë d’karra idë siltanë fitë`re — You are in my heart.

3 Jadë danë Nari`re — Informally4 means “Thank you, Nari,” but literally translates to “Gratitude, Nari.”

4 Janë idë fitë danë Nari`re — Formal way of saying “Thank you, Nari,” which translates literally to “I thank you, Nari.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so late, but I've been otherwise occupied. :3. I hope you liked this chapter, though... the test of Will's resolve, the trust that the two of them show for each other. :3.
> 
> I mean, clearly, they're still in love with the idea of them being together, but right now, neither one of them can say whether they are truly in love with the other person. So, what did you think of that chapter? Leave a comment below! It would be much _much_ appreciated. :3.


	8. To the Victor Go the Spoils

Nico felt _quite_ antsy. The real tournament was about to begin. All the matches that would follow the brief opening ceremony could be spectacles, certainly, but there was much more on the line here than just a political play.

Despite the knowledge that composure was expected of his station, Nico could not stop shifting where he stood in front of the podium and the expectant crowd. He wanted nothing more than to take his seat beside his father to watch the tournament unfold, but as per usual, the prince had work to do before he was allowed any time to relax.

Nico swept his gaze over the crowd for a moment, then he turned to look at Will. Their eyes met and a chill ran up his spine. All that they had shared before parting after Will had successfully proven his honour was a chaste kiss. Nico _dearly_ hoped that the Stranger—or, if not, at least the Maiden—would notice his plight and help him by guiding Will to victory.

Nico took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder at his father. Aides nodded, the motion small enough that only Nico saw it. The king had argued, to _no_ end, that in order to demonstrate the fact that the Southron Realm was a part of the Dominion, that the opening words should be delivered in Tretalleri.

Nico felt like it was a very ham-fisted political move on Aides’ part. Surely, speaking in IstOrryk would be the more popular choice as not everyone was sufficiently educated in the language of the elves just yet. However, Nico had to admit that Aides had a point.

It had been abundantly clear, to Nico, at least, that the tournament was not just to determine his future as the crown prince. The tournament was also meant to be a political play and a way for the Dominion to strengthen its hold on the kingdoms of man.

To begin the tournament in the language of the elves and with a ceremony customary to the Dominion, Aides was making it clear that though the Southron Realm was still a sovereign nation, it was still bound by the laws of the Dominion and subservient to her Imperator.

Nico fidgeted in front of the podium. His fingers tapped on the smooth wooden surface of the stand. Atop the podium was a piece of parchment with everything that he needed to say written down. Nico glanced at the words briefly, then raised his eyes to the crowd.

“Danë D’Terredynnë Lanakhë dirë Aides`za[1](https://stackedit.io/editor#1)” said Nico, spreading his arms out to either side of his body. A dull roar washed over him as the crowd began to cheer. He nodded with respect toward the stands bearing the general populace of the city, smiling as he drank in the energy that his people were quite _freely_ exuding.

The response was something that Nico could not have expected. He had not been aware that the people loved him so much. He had been a charitable prince, whenever he’d had the chance, but it had never occurred to him that he had actually made a difference in many lives. “Mani vetdal gurë kirtul![2](https://stackedit.io/editor#2)” screamed the crowd.

Nico felt the energy thrumming through his veins. He was still anxious, deep inside, but the excitement of the crowd was infectious. Nico grinned, displaying his teeth to the people as they cheered him on.

“Neda danë qorvë lanîrë`za[3](https://stackedit.io/editor#3)” said Nico, to the sound of the crowd’s cheering turning to jeers and boos. He didn’t blame them. The more prominent of the noble families had risen from their seats and started waving about. Aides’ philosophy of not respecting noble families that hadn’t _earned_ respect was _very_ evident in his people.

“Neda eýdratë`na neda danë pihtrë trêvvë neda trevîssi`za[4](https://stackedit.io/editor#4)” said Nico, turning his eyes to the knights that were all lined up before the royal stage. As one, the armoured warriors thumped their chests with their gauntlets. Then, they stomped their feet. As customary as the greeting was, and as much as it made the crowd go wild once again, as far as Nico was concerned, the whole thing was a _tad_ bit uncouth.

The Trevîssi did not do such flashy displays. At most, they put their hands on the pommels of their swords. The way of the Tretalleri warrior was humble—the only display worth putting on was one that would inspire fear in the enemy. A thump to the chest and a stomp on the ground, Nico thought, was just _silly._

Nico decided to put aside the thoughts. They were not only unbefitting of a prince, but they really had no place in the day’s festivities. “Vewinetë idë fîtë tidë varena khatrë`za[5](https://stackedit.io/editor#5) Khorë`na Anzatë csêndë janë neda csêndë peýrë îdë Di’Lertanys`[6](https://stackedit.io/editor#6)”

Nico stepped away from the podium in respect. The crowd in front of him fell quiet as a figure rose from the back of the royal stage and descended the staircase to the left.

The uneducated would have seen just another armoured warrior joining the knights on the battlefield, but anyone that knew of the Dominion would know that one of its most formidable weapons had just appeared. Clad in unassuming armour that seemed to have a colour more grey than the typical lustre of metal, the figure came to a stop before the line of gathered knights.

The crowd fell silent. The figure, the Di’Marrë[7](https://stackedit.io/editor#7), was only ever _whispered_ about in the Dominion colonies. Tretalleri immigrants spoke of them freely, but they were _never_ seen. The Di’Marrë constituted the second group of the highest Tretalleri priests and they were found most often on battlefields—in the service of the Faith of the Nine.

That even a _single_ Di’Marrë was present in the Southron realm likely came as a shock to the people—and to the lords and ladies most of all. Nico had immediately recognized the stunt for what it was when his father had proposed it some three years past. It was a power play. It was a blatant display of just how favoured Aides was in the eyes of the Imperator.

Already, Nico could see the furious whispering among the lords that only moments ago had seemed ready to go to war at the slightest provocation. The Di’Mârrë were of an almost legendary stature among the races of Man.

The Di’Mârrë were priests, but they were also much more than that. They possessed powers bestowed upon them by the Stranger himself. The censers that they carried, suspended by chains attached to rings worn around their heavily armoured fingers did not contain charcoal and incense. The censers contained blood—the most important component to all Di’Marrë blood magic.

The priest raised his unimpeded hand and the hushed mutterings of the crowd fell dead silent. “Qanë idë ormë teynë mordenë ζ valocsë varena kirada`ne qarë idertë Di’Lertanys`re[8](https://stackedit.io/editor#8)” said the priest.

There was an uncomfortable shuffling in the crowd. More than a few took out the leatherbound booklets that they were advised to carry around—in case one of the Tretallë approached them and could not communicate in Dominean. Most of the knights were quiet, but Will was the first to answer. “He is Life.”

Nico had always found the Litany of Questions interesting. It was the essence of the principle of complements—a principle so central to the faith of the Nine—distilled into words. “Qanë idë fîtë retë`ra qarë idertë Di’Lertanys`re[9](https://stackedit.io/editor#9)” asked the Di’Marrë.

This time the answer came swifter. The lords and ladies in their shaded section of the stands were looking more and more agitated and uncomfortable by the second. Nico wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that even the commoners of Aides’ realm were better-versed in Tretalleri than a lot of them.

“He is Death,” was the response. Nico recited the words with heartfelt sincerity. The Stranger _was_ Death, and the conception of death in the Tretalleri faith was so much more _appealing_ than it was in the Sanctum. There was no hell, no fire or brimstone that awaited those who decided to walk a path contrary to what everyone else did.

“Qarë methi silnë Di’Teýna vinevi`re[10](https://stackedit.io/editor#10)” asked the Di’Marrë. The priest walked to one end of the line of knights and with a deft manipulation of his fingers, the censer that hung from the priest’s hands split into two halves.

The knight at the far end—Jason—looked down and gulped at the sight of the azure blood that sloshed in the lower half of the censer. “For neither one can exist without the other,” said Jason. The knight stumbled backwards, eyes blinking, as blue blood splattered onto his face and the chestplate of his armour.

The priest made his way down the column of knights, each one reacting with varying degrees of surprise as the priest flicked fingers drenched in blood in their direction. A few down the line accepted the blood openly, or at least without flinching. Perseus, in particular, seemed to whisper something that made the Di’Marrë smile.

When the process was done, the Di’Marrë returned to his position in front of the royal stage. “Veýto vîttë girë Di’Lertanys d’marrë idë`re[11](https://stackedit.io/editor#11)” he said, bowing graciously before climbing the royal stage once again and vanishing from sight behind Aides and Kore.

“Let the tournament begin!” Nico declared.

\----------

Will looked up at the glittering stars high above him and thought to himself how wonderfully apt this fateful moment was for his history with Nico.

Will raised his eyes to the stands and to the royal stage. Blue eyes met dark ones, and immediately he felt his heart skip a beat. Ten years since, under the stars, he had made a promise to the crown prince’s heart and now here he was, legs astride a horse, ready to make good on that promise.

There was one thing that stood in Will’s way—a knight of great renown, in particular. The greenish-hued armour glimmered in the stark moonlight, catching the flickering torchlight from either side of the tilt and hurling it back in the faces of those that had remained to watch the championship match.

Will looked to Nico just as Percy did as well. “Tonight,” said the prince, his words solemn yet forceful, “we bear witness to the clash between a titan and a knight that no one thought much of until he unsaddled one of the favoured contenders for my hand.”

Will could hear the thread of pride in Nico’s voice, and though it did little to calm his perfectly-reasonable nerves, he felt himself sit a little bit straighter atop his saddle. “Perseus a’Ennos,” said Nico, holding out an arm in Perseus’ direction.

“Wylder a’Phoebus,” said Nico. Will shivered at the use of his name and the subtle tremor to Nico’s voice as it was said. “Veýto vîttë girë Di’Lertanys d’marrë idë`za[11](https://stackedit.io/editor#11)” Will moved as though possessed. He felt his head dip down in a gesture of respect toward the royal stage, and then he felt his hand slide down the face guard of his helm.

Will felt his head turn toward his enemy, Perseus, who had just done the same thing. His entire body tingled with energy, and though he did not feel like he was entirely in control, he felt oddly at ease.

Will lowered his lance and gripped the reins of his horse tight. “Zanë`za” Nico cried. Without having to think for a moment, Will dug his heels into the flank of his horse. He shot down the tilt, Perseus riding toward him at just the same speed.

After the first pass, Will was still firmly seated, but he had dealt quite the blow to Perseus’ shoulder. The next time, Will felt as though he had dislocated something, but Perseus was in no better shape. He had nearly flung Perseus out of Perseus’ saddle, but Perseus had managed to hold on. Somehow. It was surely, Will thought, some supernatural ability of Perseus’ bloodline. No knight should have remained horsed after such a blow.

As Will rode past and around the far post of the tilt, he rubbed at his shoulder. He took a deep breath and pushed beyond the pain, though he could hear the crowd murmuring in appreciation for the tense joust.

It was clear, to Will, that everyone still believed that Perseus would win the fight, but he guessed that was to be expected. Perseus was a son of Ennos, after all, one of the most renowned horsemen of the human realms.

What the crowd did not know was that Will was fighting for more than just the championship and Nico’s hand in marriage. He was fighting to win the heart of the man that had stolen his. Will looked up at the royal stage. Nico was looking at him, brows furrowed with concern.

Will rolled his shoulders, wincing at the sudden wave of pain. A new lance was brought to him to replace the snapped end of the one he had been using. Two squires had already cleared the yard of whatever pieces of debris remained at the spot where Will and Perseus had clashed.

Will took a deep breath and steeled himself. He silently petitioned the Stranger for guidance, unwilling to go so far as to invoke the Rider in the tournament. Will felt strength surge through his bones, fatigue draining away from his muscles.

Will charged down the tilt with all that he had. He watched Perseus keenly, looking for any way to unhorse the son of Ennos. He had his brief chance. The head of his lance hit Perseus’ shoulder, but not before he felt his own armour caught by Perseus’.

Will saw Perseus lose grip on the reins of his horse. Will was so _close_ to winning the tournament, but he knew that he would hit the ground first. As he fell, he could only curse himself for coming so far only to lose. He fell to the ground with a thump.

Through the ringing of Will’s ears, he heard another loud crash as Perseus followed him to the dirt mere moments later.

\----------  
  


1 Danë D’Terredynnë Lanakhë dirë Aides`za — I speak to you, people of the realm of Aides!

2 Mani vetdal gurë kirtul! — May you live long, our prince!12

3 Neda danë qorvë lanîrë`za — And I speak to you, honourable lords and ladies!

4 Neda eýdratë`na neda danë pihtrë trêvvë neda trevîssi`za — And finally, I speak to you, brave warriors and riders!

5 Vewinetë idë fîtë tidë varena khatrë`za — I welcome you all to this tournament!

6 Khorë`na Anzatë csêndë janë neda csêndë peýrë îdë Di’Lertanys` — However, first we must give thanks and worship to the Stranger.

7 They are known as the Di’Mârrë, or the Hands, colloquially, but formally they are known as D’Mârrë Di’Lertanys—The Hands of the Stranger. They are battle-priests who are known to wield formidable blood magics that endow allies with strength and bring weakness upon the enemy.

8 Qanë idë ormë teynë mordenë ζ valocsë varena kirada`ne qarë idertë Di’Lertanys`re — I ask all who gather here this day, who is the Stranger?13

9 Qanë idë fîtë retë`ra qarë idertë Di’Lertanys`re — I ask again—who is the Stranger?

10 Qarë methi silnë Di’Teýna vinevi`re — How can He be both?

11 Veýto vîttë girë Di’Lertanys d’marrë idë`re — May the Stranger guide your hand [in the future].

12 This line was delivered in IstOrryk, the native tongue of the Races of Man, instead of Tretalleri, the native tongue of the Dominion.

13 This line marks the beginning of the Litany of Questions, not to be confused with the Litany of Professions, which is a very important part of the Tretalleri faith. The Di’Marrë in this case only asks the questions pertaining to the identity of the Stranger, as the rest of the Litany of Questions is used only at the end of a worship service.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been a while, but I've been keeping busy with other things right now. I can't really disclose what they are in public at the moment, but I'll definitely tell you guys when I can. Thank you guys so much for your support and I'm so sorry it took so long to get this up. I've actually had this ready since May, but real life kept getting in the way, and other fics sprouted out of nowhere, so I apologize.
> 
> But now I'm here to rectify the wrongs I have committed and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Two more chapters to go, and I'm sure you guys will like the ending I have planned for this story. As always, kudos if you like the story so far, and, if you want, leave a comment! Any feedback is sure to brighten my day. <3.


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